


The Quiet Ones

by Trivialqueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Artistic Liberties, Based on a romance novel, Curse free AU, F/M, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Swearing because they're adults, Unapologetically so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2020-12-31 02:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trivialqueen/pseuds/Trivialqueen
Summary: Archie Hopper’s past has caught up with him with a vengeance and poor Ruby Lucas is caught up in it too. A Red Cricket curse free Storybrooke AU (Sides of Rumbelle and Swanfire).Archie Hopper was born Jiminy Grillo to the thieves Martin and Myrna Grillo. From birth he was raised to hurt rather than help people. However, when the Grillos shift from petty theft to armed robbery Jiminy cannot live with them or himself. Jiminy has not seen his parents since he emancipated himself and changed his name, hoping that with a new identity he could be a new person. He was just starting to feel like he could truly escape the sins of his past when he learns his parents have gotten out of prison and blame him for sending them there in the first place. They’re out for revenge. They’re out for him.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: It’d be a fairytale reality indeed if I owned Once Upon a Time or anything associated with the show. The plot of this piece was inspired by the 2004 romance novel, The Nerd Who Loved Me by Vicki Lewis Thompson. No infringement or offense intended.
> 
> Summary: Archie Hopper’s past has caught up with him with a vengeance and poor Ruby Lucas is caught up in it too. A Red Cricket curse free Storybrooke AU (Sides of Rumbelle and Swanfire).
> 
> Pairings: Archie/Ruby, Gold/Belle, Bae/Emma
> 
> Notes: Not only is this a full AU (there’s no such thing as magic) but it is also based off of an imperfect understanding of the show’s cannon. I’ve been in college/graduate school since OUAT debuted and thus have been unable to remotely keep up with everything that has gone on. Please forgive me if characterization is off from current depictions or if characters in general are wrong. I do hope that I can bring you some amusement and smut even if I’ve distinctly wondered off to left field. Also, I am not a lawyer or a doctor, so any and all legal or medical discussion is pure conjecture or based on watching too much TV.

Prologue: 1982

It said Archibald Jiminy Hopper. He held in his hands a driver’s license – his driver’s license and it said Archibald Jiminy Hopper. This was tangible proof of his new identity. Jiminy could scarcely believe it. Yet there it was in his hands, his own farce beaming out at him **Under 21** printed in bold red letters under him. The license would remain in a vertical configuration until February 12, 1987.

He’d have to find someone to get him a fake.

The thought bounded through his head before he could stop himself and he immediately felt sick to his stomach. According to the government and the state of Kentucky he was officially Archie Hopper but clearly emancipation from his parents did not emancipate him from his true and terrible nature. He was still and would forever be just Jiminy Grillo – a thief and a criminal.

He threw the license across the room.

He rushed over and picked up his license. After petitioning for emancipation every last cent he’d had had gone toward getting this license and his chance at a new life. He was a fuck up but he couldn’t fuck this up.

Carefully he tucked his brand new license in his pocket before tucking himself into his cot at the Louisville men’s shelter. The last lie he’d told in his life was to the courts, assuring them that he was employed and would have a place to sleep once he was freed from his parents. Technically he hadn’t lied about the place to sleep but he knew he still violated the spirit of the question DA Anderson had asked him.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, he vowed, he’d make the lie the truth.

_You can escape us Jiminy, but you can’t escape who you are!_

_Thief_

_Con_

_Crook_

_Liar_

_Cheat_

Jiminy awoke, the watch on his wrist reading 3:02 by the light of the moon. It hadn’t been a nightmare as much as his parents manifesting to tell him the painful truth. He could run away, he could change his name but he would always be a thief. Someone who hurt other people, who prayed on good faith.

He was a taker.

His parents were takers and raised him to be one too. He’d hurt so many people and he’d just turned sixteen.

He could still smell the gunpowder and blood.

The death of the guard haunted him. He’d driven the car and helped those murders – his parents – get away with three duffels of money.

He’d learned later the man had a family.

That night he’d taken what he could carry and hitchhiked to the nearest court to file for emancipation. In the end, it’d been an easy case - the court couldn’t find his parents to serve them. Abandonment was a blessing.

He’d filed for a legal change of name once he was free. He never wanted to be a Grillo again. To cheat, to lie, to steal. Yet even with a new name (a boring, stick-up-your-ass-name as he father would say to justify pickpocketing his wallet) he’d always be a thief and a cheat.

**…**

It said Archibald J. Hopper. He held in his hands a letter – addressed to him – from the Office of Undergraduate Admissions, University of Michigan. This letter made his fate tangible, his hopes a reality or a bitter dream. And despite two years of introducing himself as Archie, Jiminy could scarcely believe that this was to him.

“Don’t just stand there staring at it, boy, open it!” Mario said gruffly, calloused hand slapping him on the shoulder. Mario Collodi was Archie’s manager at the cooperage. He was also sort of his landlord. Archie had found himself in Lebanon Kentucky not long after taking his new name. Collodi had first offered him a job as a custodian. He’d then offered him a place to stay when Archie couldn’t give him an address at the hiring. Mario and his wife, Carla, had a mother-in-law apartment over their garage but no living mothers.

He’d lived with them for the last two years.

Mario never tried to father him, for which Jiminy was grateful, but it was clear in moments like this both Mr. and Mrs. Collodi thought of him as a son. When they’d found out he didn’t have more than a sixth-grade education they’d set him up with tutors through their parish church. He’d happily started attending Mass when he’d learned that they could help him. That he could start learning again. When he declared his intention to go to college they’d excitedly suggested all sorts of schools, encouraging him to wish for the stars when it came to his education. And now, now Mario was practically vibrating with interest as Archie just stared at the letter in his hand.

Archie took a deep breath. He ripped into the envelope.

_Dear Archibald,_

_Congratulations! On behalf of the faculty and staff of the University of Michigan, it is with great pleasure that I inform you for your admission to Michigan as a member of the class of 1988._

He’d gotten in. To Michigan. On scholarship.

It was more than he dreamed of when he’d applied.

It was more than he deserved. 

Jiminy laid on his brass bed in his little apartment, blinds open to the night sky. It had taken time, but not as much as he had feared, for him to find a place here. He had truly started to feel like Archie, rather than Jiminy. Like he was a positive member of society. He worked, he paid taxes, he didn’t even steal glances. He’d been fooling himself, buying into the biggest con of all – that he was worth anything more than the con Jiminy Grillo. He didn’t deserve the opportunity he was given. The opportunity sitting on his dresser, stark white paper mocking him in the dim of his room.

He shouldn’t go, he shouldn’t accept the offer. Michigan didn’t know what they were getting with him. They didn’t know the danger he was, the admissions office had been stupid to put their faith in him. To invest in him. He would fail them, rob them blind, or both.

But selfish as always, he knew that, while he shouldn’t go anywhere but hell or prison, he would move to Ann Arbor in August.

**…**

It said Archibald J. Hopper. He had in his hands a diploma – his diploma.

**Stanford University School of Medicine **

**Upon the recommendation of the Graduate Faculty**

**Has conferred on **

**Archibald J. Hopper**

**The degree of **

**Doctor of Philosophy**

He was a Doctor. He was Archie Hopper, PhD. He had done it. He’d completed his degree. He had completed all of his degrees – three of them. He’d survived thirteen years in college for this moment. This heavy piece of paper in his hand, embossed with the seal of Stanford “…hitherto affixed on this the twenty fifth day of May in the year nineteen hundred and ninety six.”

He’d been drawn to Psychology in college. It had appealed to him because people were fascinating and attempting to understand them was fascinating and stimulating as well. It had appealed to him because he had thought and hoped that Psychology could help him. Help him make sense of his childhood and the man he’d become. It hadn’t utterly failed him in that sense, he was now by far more at ease with the idea that he could be Archie Hopper, after fifteen years baring the name. But he knew that even though he would now think of himself as Archie, rather than Jiminy called Archie he would still never be better than his past, at least not without constant vigilance.

Psychology had appealed to him because it was intended to help people. To ‘Do No Harm’. It was a daily vow to help rather than hurt. It was a skillset that allowed him to be useful rather than destructive in a person’s life.

Dr. Freedman (call me Sydney, Dr. Hopper) had had faith in him and signed his dissertation to prove it. Had been the one to hood him. He’d never formally treated him either but always listened when he needed a friend over the seven years it took him to complete his degree. He never told the man the full truth (he’d also never lied, Archie Hopper wasn’t a liar, though Jiminy was an unrepentant one), but he had told Dr. Freedman that he worried he’d become like his parents.

“Archie, how long has it been since you’ve seen your parents?” Freedman had asked, seriously, one day over a bottle of Evan Williams in his bottom desk drawer.

“Fifteen years.” Jiminy had replied, wincing at the bite of black label (Evan Williams Single Barrel was significantly smoother, but Jiminy wasn’t going to look gift bourbon in the mouth).

“Don’t you think you should give yourself some credit for that?”

Archie looked at the diploma in his hands. His parents had been residents of the Indiana State penitentiary since about a month after he’d been emancipated. He’d gotten a call from a young ADA to inform him – to inform Jiminy of where his parents were. He’d politely informed her that there was no one named Jiminy at that number before he’d hung up. 

Freedman was right, he’d been Archie Hopper for the last fifteen years. This diploma was proof that he could make something of himself. It was his chance to pay back the debt he owed society and do some good. He was a fuck up but he wouldn’t fuck this up.


	2. Storybrooke

Archie Hopper had become a morning person somewhere along the line. He woke before his alarm most morning, though refusing to accept what he had become, he often stubbornly tried to fall back asleep until the shrill trill of his clock informed him it was 6:30a. If the obnoxious alarm was not enough to rouse him from his blankets, Pongo’s wet nose in his face was. The dog had adapted to his routine over the years (or perhaps, more accurately, Archie had adapted to Pongo’s routine). Pongo would not force Archie out of bed before 6:30 and in exchange Archie would let him out into the fenced in backyard for as long as the dog desired.

While Pongo amused himself chasing squirrels and digging up what was left of Archie’s kitchen garden, his master made breakfast. After tea and toast with a side of the New York Times online he would take his shower. Less than ten minutes actually spent cleaning himself and then another ten actively cleaning his shower. He found if he wiped it down and dried it every morning, using cleaning spray on Saturdays he never had to do any further cleaning. A little bit every day saved him effort in the long run. Since he hated cleaning the bathroom more than anything else, anything that saved him time was welcomed.

As Archie shaved he could feel pressure building behind his eyes, a surer sign than the grey clouds that morning that rain was in the forecast. He could only hope that a rainy day would mean a consistent temperature, September thus far had yo-yoed between crisp mornings and hot afternoons making dressing in the morning more of an adventure than he appreciated. Pongo was not going to be happy with the day, Archie realized with a sigh as he brushed his teeth. Best case scenario his precious pooch would be scared for life having to take a bath to get all of the mud and grass off of him before he’d be allowed in the house after work. At worst Pongo would be scared for life from the thunder rolling overhead and Archie’s absence. Rainy days, more so than Mondays, always did get him down. 

The neon signs were bright against the otherwise dreary day. They were not, however, able to buoy his spirts significantly. Today, he could feel it in his shoulders, was not going to be a good day. He still did his best to smile, it was unfair to Granny and Ruby to take his headache out on them, though he was not certain if he was really smiling or gnashing his teeth.

“Good Morning Archie.” Granny Lucas greeted him with a smile from behind the counter, her hand already reaching for a paper cup. After registering the expression on his face, she picked up the largest of the to go sizes.

“Mrs. Lucas.”

**…**

Granny’s Diner was where he had gone for dinner his first night after moving into his home. Boxes everywhere, bags and crates and not enough furniture. The movers he’d hired to transport his stuff from Boston had dumped everything inside the front door and left. Frustrated, starving, and so goddamn hot he had gone to the first place he found serving food for dinner. Granny had greeted him politely, a slight quirk of her brow the only acknowledgement of his ancient shorts and even older Budweiser tee shirt. Ruby had arrived a moment later with a glass of water and the tiniest pair of shorts he had ever seen. Rather than stare at her legs (though they deserved to be admired, to have ballads and poems dedicated to them) he observed the exchange of looks between her and Granny. It was clear that Ms. Lucas the younger was not wearing those fire engine red shorts for male admirations or even her own personal sense of style, she was wearing those shorts for the reaction she could get out of her grandmother.

Rather than professionally analyze the young woman in front of him he did his best to be friendly. His efforts were rewarded when Ruby returned with his meatloaf sandwich with fries and broccoli and a sincere smile, rather than the customer service smile she’d given him earlier. She brought him his beer with a wink toward his shirt and Archie found his frustrations fade and his overwhelmed panic subside.

Granny’s became a staple in his life as he set up his new office. It was on the second floor of a brick building where other members of the Storybrooke Clinic rented space. The landlord, Mr. R. Gold reminded Archie of Dickenson’s description of Scrooge: “But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster”. Particularly the “hard and sharp as flint” and “solitary as an oyster”. The man had liked his barriers and out of self-preservation, rather than any understanding of the human condition Archie chose to respect that. The movers he hired for this job were a little more willing to actually position his furniture in the room as he asked, but it had still taken him two full days to organize and clean the space and make it feel like his own. In that time, he’d gone to the small diner on Main for his morning coffee, for lunch to go, and for dinner. Ruby had waited on him nearly every time, her smile broadening each time.

“You know,” Ruby announced as she sat a glass of water and strong black coffee in front of him for his lunch. “I would be intimidated by you if I hadn’t seen that Budweiser shirt first.” After a week of unpacking his house and his office he was finally, blessedly done. It was Monday and his first day in the office. Archie had traded his faded tee shirts and paint covered cutoffs for clothes he felt more comfortable in. Chinos and a lightweight navy blazer. Despite the summer heat he still refused to skip wearing a tie.

“A man should not be judged by what he wears while moving.” Archie countered with a smile.

“Certainly not, but a Budweiser shirt makes a different first impression than Chinos. Chinos are serious business.”

“I am a serious man.” Ruby laughed.

“Sure thing, Dr. Hopper.” She must have seen the gold letters on his door because he had introduced himself as Archie his second dinner at the diner.

**… **

“Good morning Archie.”

Ruby had gotten over “Dr. Hopper”-ing him. It had only taken a year of him asking her to call him Archie. Over the ten years that he had lived in Storybrooke and frequented the diner Archie and Ruby had cultivated a friendship. It had started with his Budweiser tee shirt and grown from there. She was wild to leave the town she had lived in since she was five years old, fascinated with travel, and he had lived enough places to keep her interested. He had told her of working in Boston and his Post-Doc at Columbia, about Med school in California and going to Anheuser Busch all the time while a masters student at Wash U in St. Louis. He even told her a little bit about the places he’d been while Jiminy, although not very often and never very much.

Sometime over the decade Ruby had changed. It was mostly in subtle ways, twenty nine year old Ruby Lucas still loved experimenting with her hair, the red lipstick and black nail polish that nineteen year old Ruby Lucas favored but she also bought shorts with an inseam longer than an inch and skirts that fell past her fingertips. Her sense of style had become more consistent and she stopped fighting publicly with Granny. She was still gorgeous, her legs were still the closest thing to Heaven he knew he would ever see, and her smile was still genuine. Her sense of humor was as sharp as ever.

He had woken up one morning last year to discover that he had fallen in love with the waitress. That he had been in love with her for a while but the distancing meconium he had used before was not entirely true anymore. Ruby Lucas was still too young for him (sixteen years in fact) but she was not too young generally. It was sad that an old man like him was in love with her, but not problematic.

“Morning Ruby.” He greeted her as she handed him his usual. His usual, after ten years was a cup of coffee and a turnover in the morning (the Diner had apple, cherry, and strawberry turnovers throughout the year. His favorite was the strawberry). For lunch he had started packing his own from home but occasionally he would break down and go for a Ruben with extra pickles.

“You feeling alright, Archie?” Ruby was studying him carefully from behind the register.

“Yeah, rainy days sometimes give me a headache. I’ll take something once I get to the office.” Rather than admit that he had a sinking feeling he could not place that the day was going to be terrible he lied a little. Ruby did not say anything else but he could feel her watching him with doubt as he took his coffee across the street.

“A Ms. Kinga Midas on the phone for you Dr. Hopper.” Mrs. Merriweather informed him. It was deep afternoon, the pills had helped some, being done with appointments for the day helped a lot more. If he could keep himself together a little while longer, he had negotiated with himself, he could go home early and give up on this charade.

“Thank you Mrs. M.” Flora Merriweather was one of the best office assistants he had ever had. She was highly effective, empathetic, discreet, and baked him cookies. He did not recognize the name she told him, however, Kinga Midas. Interest piqued he answered his blinking office phone.

“Archie Hopper.” He greeted.

“Mr. Hopper,” the woman’s voice was clipped and sounded young. “My name is Kinga Midas, I am the assistant district attorney for the state of Indiana, southwest district. I understand that you are the child of Martin and Myrna Grillo.” Archie sent a thank you to which ever deity there was that Mrs. Merriweather was not the type to eavesdrop on the phone.

“I emancipated myself at sixteen, I have not recognized them as my parents in a very long time, Ms. Midas.”

“I can certainly understand that, Mr. Hopper, however, it seems your parents still maintain an interest in you. Were you aware that they blamed you for their arrest after the Evanston bank robbery?” Jiminy’s parents had been arrested and incarcerated not long after he emancipated himself. They had been preparing for that heist when he filed his paperwork, which was why the courts could not find them to serve them with the official papers. He had known that his parents intended another robbery when he left but had consciously resisted learning any details of their plans. Of course, his parents would not care about that, and of course rather than blame their braking the law for the reason they were in jail they blamed him. It was never Martin nor Myrna’s fault. Nothing ever was.

“My parents may blame me all they like but I had emancipated myself and changed my name and moved away by the time they were arrested.” He wondered if he sounded as defensive as he felt. He also wondered if Ms. Midas could hear the throbbing of his head, the ache had gotten worse since she called.

“You misunderstand me, Mr. Hopper. I didn’t mean to imply you were involved with the robbery, rather I am calling to warn you. Martin and Myrna Grillo, as well as their associate, Michael Gatta, have escaped custody. They have been very vocal since their arrest that they believe that you gave evidence against them which led to their arrest. I have significant reason to believe that they will attempt to contact you – or worse.” The phone nearly fell from Jiminy’s hand and it was only a breath from landing on his desk before his reflexes caught it.

His parents were out of jail.

His parents. Were out. Of jail.

They were looking for him.

Jiminy took a shaking breath.

“Ms. Midas, I have been Archibald Hopper for the last thirty years, I changed my name after I was emancipated and as a minor I believe my records were sealed. There is no reason to believe that even if my parents were looking that they would in find me.” He spoke with by far more authority than he felt in that moment. It was his dearest wish expressed as this was his deepest fear come to life.

“I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Hopper, and you do know your parents better than I. However, I still feel that you should be on your guard.”

“I will, Ms. Midas, I promise. Thank you for making me aware and for your concern.” He was not entirely certain he had been civil as they hung up, or if he just dropped the phone into the base. Jiminy put his head in his hands, elbows resting on the desk.

He had been too comfortable. Too confident in his own lie. He had gotten sloppy and believed that he was Archie Hopper. Believed that he was a good person, a person of worth. He should have known better. He might be called Archie Hopper but he was and would always be Jiminy Grillo, criminal, thief, monster.


	3. Basically, Run

Her shoulders ached just looking at him. Cleaning the tables after the dinner crowd gave Ruby the perfect excuse to watch the psychiatrist walk his Dalmatian. There was something wrong with Archie Hopper. There was a marked change over the last week. He was more tense than usual – shoulders hunched up around his ears, and he was downright jumpy, constantly looking around like he expected to be struck down at any moment. Which was absurd since Archie Hopper was the single most standup guy she had ever known. If there was a heaven and people actually went to it, she was certain Archibald J. Hopper would get past the bouncer. So the fact that he was so tense and so worried made her worry. Especially since she was fairly certain that while everyone unburdened themselves to him he had no one to talk to himself.

When she first met Archie she had thought him cute in that sort of adorkable way that wasn’t her type at all. He’d sat in the back booth at Granny’s in a faded Budweiser shirt, looking tired and frustrated. He had been an absolute gentleman the entire time, never once taking his mood out on her – and never once looking anywhere other than her face despite the outfits she favored in those days. He talked to her when he came into the diner, and more importantly, he listened. And never once did he make her feel bad that she never went to college. Even though she knew that some of those places he’d lived were because he was in college he didn’t rub that in her face. He also never tried to shrink her head, at least not obviously. She knew that his listening skills were probably honed by his profession, as well as his knack for saying just the right thing, but it never felt like he was giving her therapy. It felt like he was her friend – and it felt like he considered her his friend. He didn’t share his problems with her a lot, but occasionally would answer sincerely if she asked, “what’s wrong?” It made the relationship feel equal. She listened to him, he listened to her.

After ten years of knowing him Ruby had discovered that he was still cute in that adorkable way that was now totally her type. Somewhere along the line she’d caught feels for the good doctor. She couldn’t put her finger on when that had happened or what had melted her heart but it had. It might have been the respect he showed her body – he didn’t ogle, or touch without her consent. He respected her boundaries and respected her autonomy in that regard. When she’d gotten her tattoo, for instance, he was one of the few that didn’t try and tell her what a mistake she’d made with her body. Instead they talked about the design and how long it took and why she liked what she had chosen. It might have been the respect he showed her mind – he never made her feel stupid and he took her words seriously. He sought her opinion and if they disagreed about something he argued with the logic of her argument not dragging her into the debate and never trying to gain the upper hand with his degree, or his age, or because he was a guy, or whatever. He even admitted when he was wrong when it happened.

It might have been his voice – she loved the low tone and slight rasp. She loved listening to him carefully chose his words and articulate them, the inflection in his voice the change in tempo and pitch as he spoke. It might have been his smile – sincere and warm every time it turned to her, with dimples appearing in his cheeks and the faintest lines crinkling around his eyes. It might have been his eyes – he had breathtaking eyes. Even when she was absolutely committed to sleeping with bad boys she had been a little bit in love with his eyes. They were a clear and dazzling blue, like a perfect summer sky – warm and open. It might have been his ties – once she got over the idea that she could only be interested in three-day scruff and leather – she realized how much ties turned her on. There was just something about the idea of taking someone so starched and buttoned up and helping them become less straight laced. It had become a fantasy she’d never admit to, taking his tie off of him and unbuttoning the top few buttons of his oxford.

Archie needed a friend now, she could feel it. But for whatever reason he was too stupid stubborn to ask for support. If he wasn’t going to help himself, she’d reach out to him. Usually when it came to him, he didn’t realize he needed to talk until someone asked if he was okay. She could be that someone – she wanted to be that someone. He probably didn’t think of her as anything other than a friend, that nineteen-year-old rebel who teased him about his Chinos and ratty tee shirts and very publically flirted and fought with everyone but him.

Ruby rocked on her heels as she waited for a sign of life from behind the green door. Archie was a man of habits and she had known him long enough to know that after he walked Pongo past the diner it would be another fifteen to twenty minutes before he made it back home. She gave him thirty minutes before knocking on his door. She’d run by his little Cape Cod style house on Brahms at least once a week in warm weather, however she’d never had the courage to stand on his front porch until now. The curtains were shut tight but she could see a faint light through the window and heard Pongo’s response to her knock. It seemed to take forever, when in actuality it only probably took five minutes, before Archie opened his door.

“Ruby, hi.” He sounded painfully nervous, and his brilliant blue eyes shifted back and forth behind her, never once actually looking at her.

“Mind if I come in?” She didn’t want to fidget or show any sense of unease, but she couldn’t keep her fingers from twisting the ends of her ponytail. Archie blinked at her for a moment before actually responding to what she said.

“Of course, of course. I’m sorry, please, come in.” He stepped back from the door to welcome her. The moment she was across the threshold he locked the door, peering quickly through the window at the empty street. Ruby wasn’t sure what to take in first, his home or his paranoid behavior. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Archie asked, sweeping his arm toward his living room to welcome her in.

“Nothing in particular, really, I was just hoping to chat.” She cringed a little after she said that. It sounded like she wanted to chat at him, not have him reveal whatever it was that had him behaving all paranoid. Archie’s face certainly took on his “concerned friend” expression and he cleared his throat.

“Chatting calls for a cup of tea, or would you prefer coffee?” He began walking toward the back of the house, where, from the open floorplan she could see, the kitchen was. She trailed behind him slowly, trying to gawk but not be obvious about it. The main level featured beautiful dark hardwood floors which complimented his ecru walls, pale in color but full of framed pictures – mostly of plants, like he’d bought an old botanical book and done some Pintrest-ing. A mirror hung over his fireplace and she didn’t notice a TV.

“Whichever you prefer, please.” Pleases and Thank Yous were dear to her working in food service and she made a point of using them whenever being served herself. The kitchen was a sort of sage color with white cabinets and dark countertops. He offered her a seat at the island and busied himself with the shiny steel kettle on the stove.

“Coffee then, it’s only fair I serve it to you for once.” Next to the stove a sparkling glass French press stood. Archie Hopper have a TV? He didn’t even have an electric coffee pot. She smiled as he mentioned serving her coffee and felt her insides flutter a little.

“You have a lovely home, Archie.” “What were you hoping to chat about?” They spoke at the same time. Obviously, he wasn’t the only one who was nervous and awkward. Ruby felt herself giggle self-consciously while Archie’s ears turned scarlet.

“Thank you.” He mumbled before turning back to the coffee pot, his hands searching for something to do as much as they were measuring out coffee.

“I actually wanted to talk about you, Archie. How are you doing?”

**…**

Archie nearly knocked over his French Press. People did not ask him how he was, at least not expecting an answer. He spent his life checking in on folks but rarely did anyone return the favor. Of course, Ruby would be the one to ask him how he was doing. And of course, she would ask him that _now_. She had a way of touching him like no one else could. She also had terrible timing. What could he say? _Even though I’ve been legally Archie Hopper for the last thirty years I was actually Jiminy Grillo and I should have a rap sheet as long as your gorgeous legs. And now my parents, whom I emancipated myself from because they stopped being crooks and started killing people are out of prison and want to take their revenge on me even though I was totally not responsible for the law catching up to them. _

“How I’m doing?” His voice sounded strained to his own ears. “I’m just fine Ruby, though my headache never did quite go away. How are you doing?”

A gentle hand on his elbow made him jump and spill coffee grounds across his counter.

“Pardon my French, but Archie, you’re so tight right now that if I stuck a lump of coal up your ass I’d have a diamond in two weeks.” She looked him dead in the eye as she spoke, her eyes sparkling like gemstones. Her delivery was so serious he almost did not catch what she said. Then her words registered.

Archie laughed. It was loud, throaty, and honest. It was probably the first time he had laughed – seriously laughed – since even before Midas’ phone call. Once he started he could not stop. He laughed until he cried. Until he could not breath, and then wheezing he laughed some more. He knew he was hysterical, but it was also the first release of the tension he was carrying around in his chest. As he laughed Ruby started to laugh, perhaps a little more controlled than his manic guffawing but soon she was giggling as hard as he was (whether at her own joke or at his uncontrollable mirth he would not speculate).

Then, as suddenly as he started laughing she stopped. Her face turned serious, her eyes sharpening. The line of her mouth firm, making her cheekbones look sharp enough to kill.

“I’m serious Archie.”

The kettle whistled.

**…**

Michael knocked back an airplane bottle of Jim Beam and swore. God, that was good shit. He’d missed that in the pen. The baggie of nips that Martin had dropped in his lap when he told him to go stake out Jiminy’s place was almost enough to make up for the fact he was stuck on surveillance while Martin fucked his wife back in their cheap ass motel. Though, better those two did that shit now, rather than while he was trying to get some sleep. That had been real shitty.

Jiminy, fucking skinny ass Jiminy had sold out his goddamn parents then fucked off and got himself a goddamn house in Maine. And a college degree apparently. The shit. Michael remembered teaching the ginger to drive a stick. They had done so much for him, his parents and him and how did they get repaid? The kid sold them out. Anger seethed in Michael’s gut as he thought about it, another nip of Jim Beam doing nothing to drown it out. The front of the sissy little white house was on a tree and house lined goddamn stereotype, but the back, the back yard butted up to the Storybrooke cemetery. Jiminy seemed aware enough that they were out for his head and he kept the curtains drawn on the front of the house but the stupid fuck must’ve assumed they wouldn’t go through the cemetery to get him because the blinds were up on the back of the house. From his spot behind a large, stately tombstone Michael could see straight into the shit’s kitchen. And what he saw pissed him off even more.

Jiminy had gotten himself a woman. A fucking hot woman too. Michael hadn’t been paying too close attention for a while but those bright red painted on pants on the bitch grabbed his eye and held it. She was WAY too attractive for the likes of Jiminy. Tall, skinny but still with tits, she had a long black ponytail swinging down her back and legs for days. Drunkenly Michael watched as the two spent time in their kitchen talking, touching, and laughing.

Jiminy was happy.

Fucking Jiminy, the rat bastard, was happy.

Too much rage, too many Jim Beam nips, and not enough food in his system would be to blame for his actions. Not that drunken Michael Gatta was in a position to analyze his actions as he barreled toward the kitchen door, leaping the chain link fence in a single bound. The only thing on his mind, the only thing he wanted to do, his all-consuming desire was to beat that happy fucking smile off of Jiminy’s goddamn face.

**…**

Jiminy got himself together, eventually, his hysterical laughter lingering – fighting to burst forth again as Ruby studied him so intently. She had some of the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Green with flecks of gold, framed by long, dark eyelashes and crowned by dramatic, expressive brows. One of those expressive brows was now quirked seriously at him. To buy himself some time Jiminy carefully poured the boiling water into the press. She waited. He could feel her waiting.

“I, um – erh, received a call earlier this week with some… disturbing news.” He licked his lips. She was still waiting. Watching. “It regarded some aspects of my past, which I had hoped would remain firmly in the past.”

“Oh, Archie.” She was touching him again. And calling him Archie. And her voice was soft. So soft. And sincere. “Everyone has a past…”

“I’m afraid my past is more illegal than indiscreet.”

She looked like she wanted to say more, but was cut off by Pongo’s bark. The Dalmatian had gone from quietly dozing on his fluffy bed to fully awake and alert. His bark was not his typical “hey, human, feed me” that he favored at six in the morning, nor was it his “hey, human, pay attention to me” that he favored whenever Archie spoke on the phone. It was rather like his “hey, human, someone’s at the door” except it was darker and more aggressive.

The first crash against the door shattered the window but it took a second blow for the figure to break through the kitchen door.

_No. No, no, no, nonononononononono._

Suddenly there in his kitchen was all six feet of Michael Gatta, looking in essentials identical to how Jiminy remembered him from thirty years ago.

“Ruby, run.” Gatta had no qualms with Ruby, at least, not until she became a witness. Michael did tend to shoot the witnesses.

“What?!” She, stubbornly, was not running.

“RUN!” Gatta stumbled toward him, his face flushed with the familiar drunk’s blush.

“Jiminy!”

What happened next happened so fast he could not actually recall the mechanics of it. He found the French Press under his hand and wrenched the lid off. He threw it, hitting Michael squarely in the face with the dark, scalding liquid, the press itself bouncing off of his nose as an insult to injury. Gatta howled and clutched his burning eyes and face. This would buy him time, Jiminy realized deep in his gut. They needed to move NOW. Michael was drunk, unsteady, and blinded but this was by no means to say he was stopped.

“Ruby, we need to go NOW.” He was already rounding the kitchen island (away from Gatta), whistling for Pongo to stop biting the intruder and get ready to bolt.

“Hang on!” _The woman was the single most infuriating person he ever met_, he found his mind screaming. Beside him Ruby reached for the cast iron skillet sitting on the cool side of his range top. Picking it up with both hands she rushed up behind the still flailing man and swung the frying pan from her shoulder like a baseball bat.

It connected with the man’s skull with a sickening *****crack*** **and he crumpled like a sack of meal. It was enough to make Archie sick to his stomach. That is, if he was not heading for the door.

Ruby looked up at him over the body, the pan hanging slack in her hand.

“We need to run.” She said.


	4. Storybrooke CSI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The only thing I own are the mistakes.

“Hey! Siri, call Emma – Work.” Ruby had been jogging and running since she was on the Storybrooke High track and cross-country team. However, she’d never once tried running for her life while making a phone call. Pongo bounded between her and Archie as they ran down Brahms street. He was without his leash but in no hurry to abandon his master. Archie was surprisingly fast for a guy wearing moccasin style slippers, whom she’d never seen run a day in her life.

“Swan.”

“Emma – Ruby!” Ruby found herself yelling at her cellphone. “Archie’s – Break in. I think I killed a guy!”

It was impossible for Ruby to hold the receiver by her ear, but she could clearly hear the deputy sheriff’s “WHAT?” Ruby turned and looked over her shoulder, there was no hulking brute tearing after her that she could see, so she chanced slowing down enough so that she had breath to speak a full sentence.

“Emma, it’s Ruby. I was at Archie’s house and someone broke in. I hit him over the head with a frying pan. I think he’s dead.”

“Right.” Emma was one of Ruby’s good friends but in that moment, she was all business. “You and Archie get to the station; I’ll call Graham and we’ll sort this out.”

“Ruby hurry up!” Archie was significantly further down the street from her and the look on his face suggested he was dying. Either from running or her tardiness she was unsure.

“RUBY! STATION! NOW!” Emma yelled before hanging up.

“Archie! We need to go to the station!” Ruby found herself hollering as she began to pick up speed, shifting from her normal jogging trot to “the hounds of hell on her heels”, which for all she knew was true.

**…**

Rationally Jiminy knew that he was out of danger. Ruby had done a number on Gatta back at the house and even if the man had only been knocked out for a second, he would still be disoriented enough and in pain which logically would mean that he had not followed them. Furthermore, even if he had, there was no way Michael was going to follow them all the way to the sheriff’s office. He could stop shaking and sweating. Ruby was safe. He was safe.

For now.

Even so he could not stop shaking and sweating. The door to the sheriff’s department was locked and he felt like he was prowling like an animal. They were out in the open, exposed, easily made. He needed Ruby inside and away from the windows, they needed to disappear.

“Ruby, do you have any bobby pins in your hair?” His voice did not sound like his own. The waitress blinked at him and then slowly raised her hands to her ponytail. Out of the inky tresses that he normally would covetously watch, jealous of every pen that found itself holding up her bun, she pulled a handful of hair pins.

He snatched two from her hand. He bent one as straight as possible. The other he bent in an L shape, using his teeth as he lacked plyers. Never since he had taken the name Archie Hopper did he miss his lock-pick kit like he did in that moment.

The lock on the sheriff’s office was old and it was a testament about the relative lawfulness of the town that no one had broken in before this. The main lock was shockingly easy to open. It had taken him less than two minutes and he had been using bobby pins and was three decades out of practice.

“Stanford offers some weird-ass electives.” Ruby was staring at him as he held open the office door. He found himself laughing in spite of himself.

Pongo circled the office twice before deciding that he liked the space under Sheriff Humbert’s desk and made himself comfortable. Ruby threw herself into her friend, Sheriff Swan’s desk chair with a mighty sigh. Jiminy, however, found that he could not sit. His feet ached from running in his house shoes and he was winded but too amped up to settle just yet. His worst fears had been realized. Not only had his past – his parents – had found him after thirty years of running from it but now everyone was going to know exactly what kind of scum of the earth he was.

Ruby was going to find out the truth about him.

“Archie, Sit down, you’re making me dizzy.” Ruby snapped at him and as obediently as a pup he dropped into one of the molded plastic chairs in the office. When she found out who he really was – what he really was – she’d never look at him again, let alone still call him Archie.

**…**

Emma Swan met Graham Humbert outside Archie Hopper’s quant house, lights merrily beaming from behind curtains as if nothing had occurred. The green door hanging wide open like a gaping maw, however suggested something else. Guns drawn the sheriff and his deputy carefully entered the home.

To say that Emma was surprised by Ruby’s phone call was an understatement of the grossest kind. The waitress had sounded winded and wild. And who the hell would want to break into Archie Hopper’s house? His office, sure, that’s where his patient files were kept, and Emma was just cynical enough to know that people would have reason to want to steal something in those. The small part of her brain that wasn’t focused on her job wondered what Ruby was doing over at Archie’s at eight o’clock at night on a Thursday.

The house was trashed. Pictures were knocked off the wall, large mirror of the fireplace shattered, books thrown everywhere. There was no sign of life in the house, however. Whom ever had come in through the back door left, after doing serious damage.

“Blood on the kitchen door.” Graham observed as Emma stood in the middle of the kitchen. She could almost picture what happened, though what passed for forensics in Storybrooke, Maine would have to confirm everything.

Person (him, according to Ruby – who would be relieved that she didn’t immediately kill) broke through the window on the kitchen door, cutting themselves in the process. Someone threw a French Press at them, there was coffee everywhere and the press was broken in two jagged pieces. A cast iron frying pan lay on the ground. Ruby admitted to striking the intruder with it. Given the signs of struggle in the kitchen and the destruction through the living room it was clear whomever broke in was more interested in Archie than taking anything.

Who would want to hurt Archie Hopper, of all people?


	5. Secrets Told

“Do I want to know how you got in here, Ruby?” Emma asked, letting herself into the office through the recently unlocked door.

“Actually, that was me, Ms. Swan.” Archie stood from his seat by the holding cell, his head bowed and ears bright pink.

“I’ll be damned.” It was always the quiet ones.

“Alright, Emma’s here, now will you please explain to me just who the FUCK that was?!” Emma’s attention had been taken with the therapist admitting to picking the office lock that the deputy had completely missed seeing her friend. Ruby had herself worked into a tremendous lather. She sat in Emma’s padded chair, leaning forward and glaring. She looked unharmed, if madder than a wet hen.

The blonde shifted to look back at Archie, he was dressed down from what she was used to seeing him wear during the week. Gone were his jacket and sweater vest, his tie. Instead he was wearing a pair of time faded jeans, brown moccasins, a collared shirt and quarter zip. But what struck her more than his casual attire was his demeanor. He swayed on his feet, his cheeks pale. He seemed unable to look at anyone, including Pongo (who was curled yet alert under Graham’s desk). Feeling compassionate Emma drew her friend’s enraged glare.

“You’ll be relieved, Ruby, to know that you didn’t actually kill anyone tonight.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, night’s still young.”

**…**

Ruby was livid with him and she had every right to be. Things could have gone very poorly when Gatta burst in – she might have died. His past was after him with a vengeance and she was a poor, innocent bystander. She looked like she was ready to kill him, now that the shock had worn off and she was not running down the street. He almost wished she would, then he would be dead and would not have to face the utter humiliation of laying bare his darkest secret.

Emma walked over to the mini-fridge in the corner of the office and brought out a bottle of water. She handed it to him, letting him know he could take his time but she _would_ be getting the story from him. Jiminy took a long drink and then heaved a heavy sigh. Pongo looked up at him from Graham’s desk. If he told them everything he was not entirely sure his dog would like him in the end. But they deserved his honesty.

“My parents did not name me Archibald, I chose the name for myself – believe it or not.” He laughed a little. Once he started speaking he vowed not to stop until he had said all of it. Emma and Ruby, even Pongo seemed content with this plan as the room went silent as he began to speak.

“I read a lot of Archie comics as a kid, so when it came to choosing my new name, I figured it was fate – I was a redhead, Archie was a redhead. My birth name is Jiminy Martin Grillo,” He looked up from the floor but still could not bring himself to look at Ruby or Emma. “Celebrities are not the only people to give their kid weird names. I emancipated myself at sixteen and legally changed my name thereafter. Archie Hopper did not exist before 1982.” He drank some more water.

“I grew up in a mobile home, moving around the country. My parents, Martin and Myrna, were crooks, con-artists and thieves. I’m not sure my parents ever wanted children, but they quickly found me useful as I got involved in their cons from birth. I learned how to pick locks and pockets when most kids went to kindergarten.” Emma reached for something on Graham’s desk and he was certain it was the APB on his parents’ jail break.

“When I was about eleven – I guess I had to have been closer to twelve, it was right after they decided to take me out of school permanently – my parents met Michael Gatta. Gatta was the man in my kitchen earlier.” He always was more of a man of action than of planning – particularly when he had been drinking. Martin had much better impulse control. But Michael? Michael was all impulse. It was a wonder he had not spent longer in prison than he had.

“My parents, for the most part, succeeded in consistently running low grade cons. Low reward on their own but also low risk. Keeping one step ahead is probably the Grillo family motto. Gatta, Gatta was all about the payoff. He spent years convincing my parents to take bigger and bigger risks.” They had gone from selling snake oil and picking people’s pockets, a little bit of identity theft, and a lot of fraud to robbing cars and houses.

“Right before my sixteenth birthday Gatta finally convinced Martin and Myrna to go big. They decided to rob a bank. I had helped with my parents plots for years, because…”

It still hurt to say, to think about, “they were my parents.” His throat felt raw and bloody. “But over the last few years I had started questioning if this was what I wanted with my life. Martin could not beat a criminal ethos into me and Myrna could not beat her feared heroism out of me so they settled on cutting me out of their business and our family, as much as they could.” It sounded like Ruby (or maybe Emma) inhaled sharply. He knew there would be pity before there was loathing.

It was okay though, in the end his parents made it very easy for him to leave.

“They did not tell me their plans, just that I should wait with the car running in a parking lot across from a Five Thirds bank and be ready to drive when they said. Well, I figured out what they were doing real quick. But I stayed, I drove the getaway car. My parents and Michael came out of the bank with three duffels of money and blood on their hands.” He stared at his own hands, watching his knuckles turn white as they clinched into fists.

“I found out later that they killed one of the guards. Shot him in the face. He had a family.”

There was silence for a long time.

“I packed a backpack with some clothes, some of the cash from the job, my newest Archie comic – and I remember this vividly for no particular reason – two peanut butter sandwiches and a thermos of milk. And I left. It took me two days of hitchhiking to get to the biggest town with a courthouse where I could file for emancipation.”

“When not using me to rip people off my parents tended to just dump me at a public library. They so love the public amenities. Having a library as a babysitter was rather a blessing for a budding nerd like me. I read a lot. For a while I thought I could make up for not going to school. It did not but I was able to read a little bit of everything. I must have been planning on leaving for a while before I actually did, I read up on emancipation.”

“I wound up in Louisville over Easter weekend. I filed for emancipation that Tuesday morning. The courts could not find my parents to serve them with papers and so the judge took pity on me and emancipated me on grounds of abandonment. Once I was legally free of my parents I changed my name. I never wanted to be Jiminy Grillo – the thief, the murder – again. Though, I realize now, I will never truly escape my past.” He drank some more water and changed a glance at Ruby. She was sitting in a state of visible shock, her beautiful scarlet lips parted – her jaw certainly dropped.

“My parents and Gatta robed two more banks before they were caught and arrested. They also managed to kill another person – one of the FBI agents tracking them down. They were sentenced to life in prison. I received a call, informing me of their incarceration. They warned me that Martin, Myrna, and Gatta were vocal in blaming me for setting them up. I was living in Kentucky at that point, trying to get my GED and live on my own. We had not spoken in nearly a year by that time. Apparently, that did not matter, they blamed me regardless.”

“My parents, along with Michael Gatta managed to escape prison earlier this week. I received a phone call from an Assistant District Attorney warning me. At the time I had hoped that she had been mistaken but now it’s clear that my parents – and Gatta – are indeed intent on revenge.”

**…**

Ruby was in shock. She was in more than shock, whatever that was. In that moment, she doubted literally everything. She had taken the red pill. Day was night, black was white. Archie Hopper, sweet, shy Archie Hopper was telling her that his name wasn’t even Archie! And he was from one hell of a broken home. He called himself a thief and a murderer. She certainly could not believe that last statement. Archie Hopper, and she truly believed that he was Archie Hopper, no matter what name his birth certificate bore, did not hurt people.

He chose to focus on what he had done with his parents – what his parents had made him do, rather than what he had done. He had freed himself from their influence and, as far as she could tell from his story, raised himself from the age of sixteen until now. He was perhaps the strongest person she could think of. He looked so broken, sitting very still, his elbows on his knees. He only once raised his eyes higher than the floor. He’d chanced a glance at her and blanched paler and immediately dropped his eyes to the floor.

Her heart broke and her anger evaporated.

“Oh Archie.” He flinched at the sound of his own name. Ruby found herself by his side, her hand resting on his shoulder. He flinched away from her touch as well as her voice, and it was his visceral physical reaction that kept her from wrapping him in her arms and hugging him until this nightmare was over. And she was certain that this was literally his nightmare.

“I am so sorry.” She could barely hear him.

“What?”

“I am so sorry, Ruby.” He repeated himself, scarcely louder.

“Why?” Her heart began beating faster than when she was sprinting for her life.

“If Michael thinks you are with me, and he might since he found us in my kitchen, he will use you to get to me. My parents will hurt you if they can exact their revenge.”

**…**

“Right.” Emma had been listening with only half an ear after Archie – Jiminy (Archie!) said he was the son of Martin and Myrna Grillo. She and Graham had seen the announcement of their and Gatta’s jail break. There had been some information from the prison that they might have been heading to Maine. She could safely say that lead was correct. If Archie was correct and people were out for him, he would need to disappear. He had an advantage though, Emma highly doubted that anyone was doing surveillance with Gatta, or else they would have never allowed him to barge in and not get the drop on Archie (which holy hell, Archie had looked a guy in the face who he knew was trying to kill him and managed to escape without suffering a scratch). If Gatta acted alone and “off script” then, for the moment, no one knew where Archie was. If they wanted to keep him safe they needed him to go into hiding ASAP and stay undercover until his parents were found and arrested again.

Emma’s brain began to whirl, thoughts flying about. This was Storybrooke, it was amazing that they could afford a sheriff and a deputy, they certainly didn’t have the resources for anything resembling a safe house. And honestly expecting him to sit in a town while knowing that his parents were there and looking for him didn’t make any sense. He needed to get out of town, tonight, and hole up somewhere for a few days. Somewhere where no one knew where he was and no one knew who he was.

She was fairly certain she knew the perfect place to have him hide.

But she would have to ask a favor.

From Him.

“Here’s the plan.” Emma liked plans, she appreciated the control they could provide over her life and circumstances. She could sympathize with a lot of Archie’s story. Her parents had also abandoned her, though she had gone into the system, though at sixteen she had also emancipated herself from where she was living – though not formally.

Archie looked up at her. God, it looked like he was a hair away from crying.

“The plan: Archie, you have got to get out of here – tonight. You might have been found but I think it’s safe to say after this evening no one is currently watching you. This is your chance to give the Grillos and Gatta the slip.” She couldn’t bring herself to call them his parents, even though he had. “Ruby, I’m not entirely certain Archie is right about you being a target-” Archie opened his mouth to argue with her but she cut him off with a gesture. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry. You beat the guy once, I won’t bet on it happening twice.” Ruby opened her mouth to argue with her but she cut her off with a look.

“You both need to disappear until these bastards are caught.” If Archie batted an eye at her language describing his parents she didn’t care.

“Where would we go, Emma? This is Storybrooke! It isn’t … I don’t know, a Jason Bourne novel!” Ruby a point, but Emma had a solution.

“Don’t worry. I know a guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're very math oriented you might be reading this and think 'like the ages and events of these characters don't match up, how old are these people?!'. Despite posting this in the year of our lord 2019, I actually wrote most of these early chapters years before so either assume that this story is set earlier (circa 2011) or stop doing math and trying to impose some sort of logic on this otherwise fictional love story. ;)


	6. The (Wo)man with the Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't worry, I know a guy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Mr. Gold is never officially given a first name as far as I can tell I have the joy of naming a canon character. In this iteration I have decided on the name Rafe. There are a few ways to pronounce it. I have been saying it like ‘safe’, not like Rah-Fee. I decided to keep Neal/Baelfire’s name Baelfire because, as Archie pointed out Celebrities aren’t the only people to give their kids weird names. Also, it’s a Gaelic name and … why not?

Jiminy splashed water on his face. He had not thrown up but he certainly felt like he would at any moment. He had had high hopes for Emma’s plan until she announced she was going to need outside help. Now both Gold men and Belle were sitting out in the office, Emma briefing them on what was going on. Briefing them! Hell, she might as well hold a press conference. The entire town was going to learn what a miserable creature he was. Rafe Gold and his son, Baelfire were his patients. How the hell was he supposed to be mediating their relationship if they knew how fucked up his life was?!

(The tiniest part of him that was not utterly panicked was intrigued by the fact Belle had come with Gold. He’d expressed interest in the town librarian during one of their monthly sessions but also a deep concern that she did not reciprocate and he would be imposing on her. Clearly, things had progressed in a positive direction).

Jiminy leaned against the sink. He could not bear to look at his reflection in the mirror, but he needed the support. The world was spinning off its axis.

Just as he felt himself move back from the edge he remembered that this plan did not just involve half the town but also, the crux of it, involved sending him and Ruby “away”. His life had become a paperback romance novel. And it was moving further and further out of his grasp of control.

**…**

“Archie.” Ruby could hear the water running on the other side of the door. She was worried about the psychiatrist – her friend. He was as pale as death and since revealing his life story, completely turned in on himself. She barely recognized him. Archie had always been a private man, a friendly man to be sure, but he was never one for sharing. Now she understood why. She never thought him the type to hate himself, over the ten years she’d known him he’d never let on how little he thought of himself. But as he spoke, as he told them of his past it was painfully clear he thought of himself as no better than his parents. She could feel him pulling away from her like he would hurt her, just because he was born into a shady family.

The men’s room door opened. Archie had a little more color in his face and a wet spot on his jeans where he had leaned against the sink.

It took everything in her not to throw her arms around him then and there.

“This has to be hard, and I won’t pretend to know exactly how hard, but Archie, please, let us help you.” She would beg if she had to.

Clearly, she had taken him by surprise. He stopped, the door swinging closed to hit him on the ass – making him jump. He stared at her, then blinked, then stared at her again. She met his eyes, hoping, praying that she could communicate something to him. Something that would convince him.

It was almost like he was buffering.

“I’m not going to like this.” He sighed.

**…**

Emma looked around her office, making very clear to those assembled what she had just told them was not to leave the room nor be held against the good doctor. On the one hand she did trust Bae, Belle, and Gold not to tell anyone, on the other hand she didn’t need to be a therapist to know how difficult this was for Archie.

She had called Baelfire first, hoping he could think of a solution other than the one which has first sprung to her mind. Bae was her partner in crime and in life. Her better half. The one she bounced all of her ideas off of – even the crazy ones (especially the crazy ones).

Unfortunately, he only confirmed what she had suspected. Her plan was a good one, but for it to work she needed to talk to…Gold. Although she and Bae had been together since she was sixteen years old, with a ten-year-old boy to show for it they had never married. It felt weird to refer to Rafe Gold as her father-in-law even though he basically was. Bae and Gold (just Gold, dearie, unless you would like to join Bae in calling me papa) had a rocky relationship, although in the last few years they had actively begun to repair it. The fissure had begun with the divorce of Bae’s parents, while he had always been affectionate and devoted to his son, Bae hadn’t been able to trust him when he spoke to his mother as he had. The separation had been far from amicable. Bae had equally little patience for his mother, who told him at fourteen she had only pushed for full custody out of spite.

Emma had never met Gold without Bae for context. Because of this he was nothing but what passed for pleasant to her. She was the mother of his grandchild and for that he would always be grateful. Also, she and Bae owned their home outright, and so they were among a select number of people in town who did not have Gold as her landlord. All of this meant that she had a unique relationship with the man her best friend, Mary Margaret, referred to as the Crocodile. In addition to owning the sleepy town of Storybrooke, Gold owned several other properties along the eastern seaboard.

It was his role as landlord that had him in the office that night. Belle was a bit of a surprise. For her to show up with Gold after Bae called him meant that they had to have been together when he called. It was, Emma discretely checked the clock on the far wall, nine thirty. Belle French was the town librarian, she moved from being an assistant librarian in Saint Louis to being the head, assistant, and only librarian in a town less than an eighth of the size. She came about a year ago, her father following her about three months later. Maurice, “Moe”, was trying to get a florist off the ground. The name, Game of Thorns, was amusing and he did produce gorgeous arrangements, but sadly people didn’t seem to buy a lot of flowers. Moe and Gold had had more than one epic bust up in the time the Australian had been in town. It begged the question, what was the most surprising thing about the clear relationship between librarian and landlord – the fact that while one was almost universally reviled the other was quite well liked or the fact that the extreme animosity between father and boyfriend didn’t seem to preclude a relationship.

“Alright, we’re back.” Ruby announced, leading Archie through the door. The therapist had bolted when others had arrived. Emma could understand his feeling of being overwhelmed, he had kept this locked so very tightly in himself until now, adjusting had to have been difficult. Emma would have been content to let him stay in the bathroom for as long as he needed but Ruby had become antsy as soon as he stepped out of the room. She’d gone to check on him almost immediately. Once this was taken care of and the Grillos and Gatta were caught Emma would take a moment to ponder what Ruby was doing over at Archie’s in the first place. She had known they were friends… But that train of thought would have to wait. Archie was less pale than he’d been before but still looked morose as all get out and deeply uncomfortable under the gaze of three new pairs of eyes.

“Excellent” Gold spoke up, leaning forward on the bench beside the holding cell. “I had mentioned to Ms. Swan here, and my son, that I have recently purchased a lake house in the Catskills.” Pawnbroker, Landlord, Lawyer, and amateur theatrical performer Gold turned the room’s attention to himself with ease. “I am in the process of furnishing it, but it should have enough furniture to suit current needs and more importantly is far enough away that I think you Dr. Hopper, should go unnoticed and unmolested until this unpleasantness has passed.”

The Catskills were a little more than five hours from Storybrooke, it was a popular destination. Popularity meant it would have some anonymity and some amenities (also making real estate prices somewhere right in between _ouch_ and _boing_). As it was late September it also meant that the scenery would be gorgeous, but it was off peak season. Easy then to fly under the radar without suffocating from people. It would be an ideal place to have Archie and Ruby lay low for a while. Gold’s house would be handy, in addition to being far away, it was also free and without a check-in time. Getting the two out of town as soon as possible was imperative.

“Do I get a say in any of this?” Archie had taken his seat in the guest chair back, Pongo had joined him, nosing under his hand until he scratched his ears. Emma could see in the set of the man’s jaw that he was going to object. Archie was never one for charity and now she understood why. He was determined to never be a taker.

“Of course you do.” Ruby pronounced, she had surrendered her seat at Emma’s desk to Bae and moved to sit in the molded plastic chair beside the good doctor.

“But we,” Bae piped up, “have the right to disagree with you if we feel that you are not making the best decision for your well-being.” Gold shot his son a pointed look. _Something from therapy _Emma assumed.

“Only I can determine the best course of action for my well-being.” Archie shot back. _Yep, this was a ‘Thing’_.

“Perhaps so, Dr. Hopper, but we are concerned, and I believe legitimately so, that you have undervalued yourself and thus acting on that rather than in your true best interest. You are welcome to advocate for your own solution, but we will also be working toward your safety.”

“Well!” Belle pronounced, her hand moving to rest on Gold’s leg, “I think we’ve made some progress.” Emma laughed but Archie did not.

“What course of action would you recommend?” Archie took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Emma could hear him thinking through his options. Beside him, Ruby dithered, watching his face intently.

“Obviously, I cannot go home at the moment.” He said after a long pause. From the bench Gold snorted _Obviously _and both Ruby and Belle cast him sharp looks. “However, I see no reason to rely on anyone else to solve this problem, I can easily find a place to stay here and lay low for a little while, I have every confidence that you will have my parents and Michael in custody quickly, Ms. Swan.”

“It sounds to me like you’re willing to go to a lot of effort and expense to do basically the same thing as we’ve suggested but without allowing us to help you in any way.” Belle said, her voice soft and lilting, belying the accusation of her words. Archie took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, his jaw clenching.

“Fine.” He sighed, and with those four letters he surrendered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further chapters are going to be longer, I promise.  
I've been working on The Quiet Ones as my NaNoWriMo project. You can follow my progress on my Tumblr (https://trivialqueen.tumblr.com). I post both updates about my daily writing totals as well as the occasional excerpt, related one shot, or other media. Come say hi, I love it when people say hi.


	7. Storybrooke City Limits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, it’d be a fairytale reality indeed if I owned Once Upon a Time or anything associated with the show. The plot of this piece was inspired by the 2004 romance novel, The Nerd Who Loved Me by Vicki Lewis Thompson. No infringement or offense intended.
> 
> I'm also on tumblr (trivialqueen.tumblr.com) and post the occasional excerpt from later chapters of this work, as well as playlists, head canons, and other related ramblings. Come say hi!

Once Emma had thoroughly explained things to Nancy Lucas – and swore on her son’s head that Ruby would be fine, and this was just precautionary – Ruby’s grandmother allowed Emma and Belle into her granddaughter’s room. She even retrieved the old rolling suitcase from the closet.

“Well now,” Belle pronounced, rubbing her hands together like that might dispel the awkwardness in the room. “What do we pack?” There was a wicked gleam in the librarian’s eyes that Emma whole heartedly approved of. Ruby was entirely at their sartorial mercy. Ruby had argued until she was nearly blue in the face that she could pack her own bag for this impromptu sabbatical, but Archie hadn’t wanted to take any chances with Gatta’s whereabouts unknown. (Or perhaps, since he wasn’t allowed back into his own home to pack a bag, he wanted someone else to be equally as impotent as he was feeling). He’d used every argument he could think of, including the guilt of something happening to Granny or the Diner if Gatta knew where she lived. And so, Bae and Gold had gone to retrieve some clothes for Archie, Emma and Belle were packing a bag for Ruby, leaving the shrink and the waitress in the office with Graham to give their statements and plan their route.

Belle threw open Ruby’s closet doors.

“Oh, this is going to be fun.” Emma rolled her eyes. Belle had excellent style and liked this sort of thing.

“You do her clothes then; I’ll pack up the toiletries.” Ruby had texted them a long list of essentials when she realized that she’d lost control of her packing.

“Don’t forget to pack condoms.”

“Belle!” Emma wasn’t particularly scandalized by the suggestion, but she’d not expected the town librarian to be making it. Miss French always seemed so quiet. Almost proper, although perhaps considering the length of the skirts she favored, she wasn’t _that_ proper.

“What? I might be new to town, but I’ve got eyes. I can spot sexual tension when it’s served up to me on toast every morning.”

“You really think…” She was absolutely right. It’d been going on so long Emma had stopped noticing it. The way his eyes trailed after her in the diner, and how they snuck a peek at her ass when he thought no one was looking. Then there was, of course, the way that she took every opportunity to touch him. Pat on the back, brush lint off his cuff or snow off his shoulder. And the way her eyes lit up when she saw him across the room.

“Of course, I really think! She was over at his house at like eight at night, that’s definitely a sign something’s up. Why else would she be over so late?”

“I dunno, you were over at Gold’s pretty late.” Emma didn’t really want an answer to that statement. Rafe Gold was her partner’s father, and while he was looking pretty good for his age, she absolutely did not want that mental image. Not with anyone. Least of all with a friend of hers.

“And getting up to exactly what you’d expect.” She said airily, “Be sure to pack condoms.”

**…**

Graham had finished securing Archie’s home and had arrived at the sheriff’s office as his unintended team of handlers were on their way out the door. The sheriff and Ms. Swan were confident that his place would be safe from surveillance for the time being. However, both were adamant that despite this confidence he wasn’t allowed back there, just in case. And so, he was forced to give up even more of his independence and trust Mr. Gold and his son to pack a bag for him while he and Ruby gave their official statements.

Jiminy had known Graham Humbert since he arrived fresh from the academy. He’d been hired as Sheriff Thompson’s deputy five years ago and it had been completely natural to name him sheriff once Eli decided to finally retire. Graham had fit so perfectly into the sleepy community that no one once wondered why a young man with prospects would choose to move to a sleepy village on the coast. He liked hiking and dogs, craft beer, hunting and fishing as well. Everyone agreed he was the perfect local, except, of course, for his questionable taste in women. Regina Mills might be the mayor of Storybrooke and a competent administrator, but she was far from a popular person. If he listened to the better angels of his personality Archie would say that obviously Graham brought out a warmer side to the mayor and they connected in this tender, well protected heart space. Or, perhaps more likely, Graham liked being bossed around, outside and possibly even inside the bedroom.

Graham Humbert was also one of Ruby’s closest friends.

Jiminy tried to not be jealous. It was a natural emotion he knew, but not always a productive one. He had no right or reason to be jealous of Graham. Ruby was an independent woman free to make her own choices and her own friends. It was just that … they conversed so easily. Teased one another freely. She was currently smiling at him as they printed out driving directions to Gold’s cabin in the woods. Graham was lamenting that no one else knew how to pour his coffee like she did. And how she was going to get to go on all sorts of amazing hikes while he had work. Ruby rolled her eyes and swatted his shoulder playfully while offering to teach him how to make coffee if he was so worried. She then started checking her phone for things to do in the Hudson River Valley, gushing about the views and the craft beer and all the opportunities for adventure.

It felt like an eternity, but eventually both Gold and Bae, as well as Emma and Belle returned.

“We packed for a couple of days, hopefully it won’t take that long though.” Bae handed him his brown canvas tote. It wasn’t much bigger than the bag he’d taken with him thirty years ago. Thirty years and he was still running…

“Granny gave us the keys to the Camaro, Ruby. Figured if they found out where Archie lives, the Grillos and Gatta would probably know his car as well.” Emma tossed the key ring to the waitress, sterling silver wolf charm catching the light as it arched through the air.

“Plus, it’s a helluva lot more fun to drive than a Subaru.” He knew she was teasing but still. If there was ever a metaphor for them… It was never a wonder why he fell in love with her. And there was never any hope for her to return the feelings.

**…**

Ruby watched as Archie loaded their bags into the trunk of her Camaro. The cherry red 1975 Chevy Camaro had been her baby since she saved up enough tips to buy it eight years ago. It hadn’t run when she acquired it and honestly it held the last six months of her relationship with Billy Mauser together more than any affection or attraction had. But with Billy’s professional help and her own elbow grease she’d gotten the car fixed up better than new. When she’d bought the Camaro, she’d imagined taking it on road trips and adventures. But never like this.

Archie was quiet, subdued even. He had been since they’d arrived at the office. He’d affectionately said his goodbyes to Pongo, lovingly warning him to be a good boy for Graham. He’d politely thanked Gold, Bae, and Emma for their help. When he’d won the coin toss to take the first turn behind the wheel on the trip he’d only nodded. And now that they’d crossed the town line, he was absolutely silent.

Ruby watched the back of the ‘Leaving Storybrooke’ sign shrink in the sidemirror. Growing up the town line had felt like such a barrier, holding her back from actually living, forever keeping her in this one-horse town in the sticks. Travelling had always been her dream, her near obsession in her teens. She and her mother had moved from Boston to Storybrooke when Ruby was five. At the time she hadn’t understood why once crossing the border they never crossed back. Twenty years later she realized her mother had been dying. She’d known she was fading, that was the only reason why she moved back in with her mother. Four years later Anita died, hooked to beeping machines, in a sterile, cold hospital bed. Her mother had died and from that moment on every last bit of Granny’s energy was divided between caring for her and paying bills. The suppliers, the rent, the medical bills, the medical bills, the medical bills. Cancer was ugly and it was expensive. They’d finally gotten out from the crushing sea of red ink when Ruby was twenty, she could still remember the day Granny had sent the last payment, she’d immediately gone to the drinks cabinet and pulled out a very dusty bottle of champagne and they’d had themselves a little party. There simply hadn’t been a budget for travel when she was growing up.

As an adult Ruby had left Storybrooke a few times. Never for good, as much as she fantasized about just saying ‘Fuck it’ and never coming back. Granny needed her too much. But Ruby had an opportunity for a trip now and then in the last few years. For Mary Margaret’s bachelorette party, they’d gone for a long weekend in Boston. They’d gone to Rehoboth Beach for Ashley’s Babymoon girls’ weekend. Emma, M&M, Ashley, and Charlotte-Rose had all gone in and taken her to New York City for her twenty fifth birthday, so she’d stop complaining that she was the only person in the world that hadn’t been. The Greyhound trip had been nearly eight hours long and the hostel was cramped and required them doubling up, but they had had a private room with a tiny closet of a bathroom. They had camped out to get $20 tickets to see RENT on Broadway. Then hit the town so hard that even _Emma_ didn’t have clear memories after two am. The next morning, they had woken up at noon with a traffic cone, a live pigeon, and someone else’s bra (it wasn’t any of theirs and it clearly wasn’t new. Two years later Ruby had tossed it onto the taxidermized antlers of the moose that hung above the bar at _the Blue Moose_ to hang amongst its kin and remind her of times she’d forgotten every karaoke night). Now she was leaving again on an adventure with Archie Hopper by her side. If you had told her, even thirty-six hours ago that she’d be going on a trip with Archie this was not what she’d have imagined. Not the destination, not the reason, and certainly not the oppressive silence from the man beside her. Ruby had known him for ten years now, he’d never been as closed off as he was now. Not even when he’d first sat in her section wearing a faded Budweiser tee shirt and sweating profusely.

Slowly she reached out and placed a hand on his knee.

“Archie,” She said softly. She didn’t know why, there was no need to whisper, and yet in the oppressive silence of the car her voice sounded loud and jarring. “It’s going to be ok.”

Her hand on his knee made him jump, jerking the wheel slightly as he did so. He’d been so lost in his own spiraling thoughts that he’d completely forgotten the woman sitting beside him. Ironic since half of his dark meditations were on the fact, he had put her in danger. Her hand on his knee was warm and firm. Grounding. Jiminy took a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to imagine his fear and anxiety dissipating with it. Despair had been clawing in his chest like Fenrir, threatening to consume him entirely. Ruby pulled him back. Giving in would do nothing. It certainly wouldn’t keep her safe from his family. This was all his fault. Entirely. But he wouldn’t take it out on Ruby, the only innocent in this shit show that was his life.

“It’ll be.” He agreed. He wouldn’t insult her by trying to smile when he felt like doing literally anything else, but he could feel his features soften as he chanced a glance at her. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this mess though.”

“Hey,” She squeezed his knee softly, “It’s not your fault, don’t beat yourself up about it.” She withdrew her hand and he felt bereft. “I’m glad I’m here, in a way, you shouldn’t have to face this alone.” He was marginally more successful in not jerking the steering wheel in surprise this time. Carefully he peeked at his beautiful travel companion. She was staring out of the wind shield, poorly illuminated by the dashboard lights and the waxing moon. For a breath even the air tasted different.

“Plus!” She said, too brightly, shattering the gossamer moment of…something. “It’s an adventure. I’ve been aching for an adventure for ages. Let’s see what Granny packed us for provisions.” A different tension settled into her, excess energy seemingly crackling from her fingertips as she reached behind his seat. From the back seat she retrieved a soft sided cooler and a giant, faded army green thermos.

“Coffee?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The closest I’ve been to upstate New York is reading My Side of the Mountain when I was a kid, admiring artwork painted by the Hudson River Valley school, and a weekend in Buffalo attending a friend’s wedding. From here on out, not only am I not a lawyer or a therapist, I am also completely making up geography… Also, Graham Humbert is a submissive, don’t let his resemblance to Christen Gray fool you. I don’t make the rules ;) Charlotte-Rose Schulz is my interpretation of Rapunzel in this curse free AU. She’s Ruby’s hairstylist and good friend.


	8. From the Age of the Dinosaurs, Cars Have Run on Gasoline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There's 106 miles to Chicago, we've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark out, and we're wearing sunglasses...Hit it!"
> 
> Also known as, Ruby and Archie start their overnight trip to the Catskills while the Author quotes the Blues Brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from (Nothing But) Flowers, the song quoted is Ruby Dear both are by the Talking Heads, off the album Naked which came out in March of 1988. I own neither these songs, any of these characters, the plot, or anything else recognizable.

It had been a daydream of his, being the one to take Ruby on the adventure she’d been craving since he first met her. Fate would have it that his favorite dream would be acted out by his worst nightmare.

“Truth or Dare!?” He knew his tone was incredulous but _really_. Beside him Ruby just smiled over her mug.

“What?” She’d make an excellent therapist given the persistent care she took in getting him out of his head and chatting with her like they used to. He had been spiraling and she had pulled him back from the edge, simply pouring him a cup of coffee and slowly but surely talking to him. For a moment it almost felt like the nothing had happened. That this was just them as they always were, going for a nice, friendly drive instead of fleeing from his parents.

“How exactly are we supposed to do a dare while we’re in a car?”

“There’s always…singing… or funny accents, crank calls, doing things when we make stops… or promising to do the dare when we’re not driving.” She was grasping at straws, defending the suggestion. Archie chuckled. It was the first time he’d laughed since his kitchen, which felt like a lifetime ago. “Alright, it was a crap idea. But at least you’re laughing.”

Ruby felt her spirits lift as Archie laughed at her. It was such a relief to hear that deep chuckle, see his dimpled smile. She’d experienced neither in at least a week, probably since he found out about his parents. After his eyes, his smile was what she noticed about him – what she’d fallen in love with, even as a petulant girl-woman. God, she’d missed it. And now it was back, tentative, yes, but back.

“So no Truth or Dare. How about Never Have I Ever?” Making small talk seemed dangerous since ‘what’s new with you’ was the return of childhood trauma, abuse, and neglect for him. But sitting in silence wasn’t an option either.

“I’m not sure you can play that with only two people… or sober.” He had a point, the only way to play Never Have I Ever with ten fingers was if those ten fingers were of whiskey. Even though it shouldn’t she was still surprised he had opinions on the game. She couldn’t imagine mature, stable, responsible Archie playing a drinking game. Let alone Never Have I Ever, a game designed for the impure.

“You’ve played a lot of Never Have I ever, have you?”

“Ruby, my name might be Jiminy but I’m no conscious. I started drinking at thirteen because my parents didn’t notice or care, as long as I didn’t take too many of _their_ beers. I’ve played all the major drinking games. In fact, I was Wash U’s reigning beer pong champion two years running.” He sounded… proud of that.

“Really?” She turned to look more fully at him, the moon and the dash lights casting him in a half light. But even then, he still looked like Archie, mature, stable, responsible Archie Hopper, all collared shirts and sweater layers. He’d pulled the sleeves of his quarter zip up and rolled back the cuffs some and she could see the flex of muscles in his forearm as he drove. She tried to imagine those same forearms and broad hands tossing ping pong balls in red solo cups.

“Absolutely. I won a custom beer pong table after the second tournament. It had the Wash U. logo painted on one end. When I went to Stanford one of my roommates helped me put the Stanford logo on the other end, we kept it set up in the basement for parties.”

“I’m going to have to see this table to believe anything you just told me.” He chuckled again, a half smile on his lips.

“It’s in my garage. I haven’t had a reason to play beer pong in a _very_ long time.”

**…**

Somewhere after they merged onto the Maine Turnpike and Ruby had wrung the entire story of how he was declared beer pong champion of an entire school (bracket style tournament to determine the winning two person team and then cut throat head to head competition between him and his teammate Nick Loomis, a MA in sociology, to determine the ultimate winner), she had turned the radio on. _For background noise_ she declared and then spent the next five solid minutes scrolling, scrolling, and scrolling until he grabbed her hand on the dial and he’d begged her to stop giving him musical whiplash and settle. The station that came in once she stopped messing with the tuner was an alt/indie station, the DJ informing them that it was “nearly the witching hour” in a voice like tinted glass. He had an appreciation for all sorts of music, but some of it just touched him more than others. He would recognize that intro anywhere. Archie turned the radio up.

“Speaking of college…”

_'Round and 'round and we won't let go/ And where we stop, no one knows/ Uh-huh uh-huh…_

The Talking Heads would always take him back to college. _Naked_ had been the album of his sophomore year. He’d lost his virginity while “Love ® Building on Fire” played on the radio. He wore a Bryne style ‘big suit’ for Halloween his junior year and thought he was going to sweat to death inside every packed bar, but it had been worth it as he and his friends stumbled home that night, a hard frost settling around them at two in the morning.

“This?” Ruby shot him a look as she piled her luscious long hair on top of her head in a messy knot, a curl refusing to stay falling against her pale neck. It was very distracting. But not so distracting that he missed her tone.

_Think about what ev'ryone is saying Ruby dear Oh don't you hear/ Late at night when the radio is playing Ruby dear So looky here…_

“What?” It had been a slow start, getting Archie to open up again, but she had finally succeeded. He was chatting with her like old times. Better than old times, she hadn’t realized until now how reserved he was when they spoke before. Sure, they had chatted about this and that for ten years but not like this, like a weight had been lifted off his chest. Oh, he had mentioned living in St. Louis before, but he had said nothing about being a champion beer pong player. She would never forgive his parents for what they did to him, and she hated that she had to find out about his past this way, but perhaps something good had come from all of this.

“Nothing.” She assured him with a shrug. “I just didn’t imagine you as a new wave kinda guy.”

“Oh really,” His voice was raspier than usual, the way ‘really’ rolled off his tongue was a thrill. He had such a sexy voice to begin with, and now it was tinted with sleep – despite the cup of Granny’s red eye special by his side. _Ruby, dear, your crush is getting out of hand. _He was her friend first and foremost, and absolutely not interested in her, a dull little rebel wannabe with no education and no prospects bigger than a diner and B&B in nowhere Maine. Hell, other than one trip to Delaware, this was probably the farthest she’d ever been from home. He had a PhD for God’s sake, she worked for tips. And yet, on occasions, rare occasions, it felt like he was flirting with her. Like now.

“And what kinda guy do you think I am?” he gave her a challenging half smile in the dim light of the car. _Sweet. Handsome. Unattainable. _

“Classical. Jazz. Something brainy.”

“I am absolutely positive that David Byrne, Cake, and the like think they’re brainy.” This time the chuckle was sardonic. “But I take your point. If it makes you feel better, I’m also in a jazz band.”

Now that he mentioned it Ruby vaguely remembered this fact. Roger and Anita Darling, who directed the Storybrooke schools’ band also ran a small community ensemble. They played once a month at _Babette’s_ Storybrooke’s third bar. She had never been to _Babette’s;_ the speakeasy style bar had always intimidated her in a way she didn’t want to name. _The Rabbit Hole_ and _Blue Moose_ were much more here scene with their bra laden taxidermy and pool tables with two eight balls but no number three. _Babette’s_ had house infused vodkas, a specialty whisky list, oysters on the half shell, two fireplaces and a jazz band that played the first Friday of every month. She wanted to be the sort of girl that went to places like that, but every time she’d stopped outside the door, she’d never gone in. What a place like that was doing in Storybrooke she’d never know, it was better suited for Portland or another dynamic place with aspirations. Not small-town Maine where everyone worked with their hands for a living. Fishermen, miners, lumberjacks, people like her were better suited for little dives.

“You told me about that ages ago, you’re still singing in that?” He had mentioned it, once. She’d just turned twenty-one and had been contemplating aloud what she should do on the weekends now that she was allowed to drink legally. Archie had mentioned the jazz band and _Babette’s_ – maybe she’d come see them play. She’d laughed at him now, she remembered. _Babette’s_ was not her scene. And what would she know of jazz? He never mentioned the band again. She’d entirely forgotten that.

“Oh God, I don’t _sing_. No. No, no. I don’t sing. I play clarinet.” The way he said sing, it was as if she’d suggested he perform naked, outside, in December.

“Why don’t you sing? You’ve got a lovely voice.” It was true. Deep, raspy, low… perfect for crooning.

“Why, thank you. But I really don’t, not as a singing voice. I’m better suited for instruments. Give me my violin, my clarinet, anything really before you make me sing.” She couldn’t see in the dark but given his tone she knew he was embarrassed and if he was embarrassed the tips of his ears should be a lovely shade of pink. In her younger years she made it her personal mission to see that color at least once a week. How else was she supposed to keep her rebel image if she didn’t shock people?

“You play two instruments?” The first week of fifth grade they’d brought everyone into the gym where Mr. and Mrs. Darling had sat with all the different sorts of band instruments. After they explained a little about each one everyone was brought up to try them and they were given a little card where the musicians had written if they’d recommend you try and learn that instrument or not. Ruby had been encouraged to find another extracurricular besides band. She loved music, but didn’t have the patients to learn it, to listen, to practice, to read all the little dots and squiggles on the page. Besides, even in fifth grade she knew that only geeks joined band, and she was _not_ a geek. So, while all the other kids clambered to learn more about different instruments, she skipped out on the assembly early and went to recess.

“It was basically free to learn in school because I could borrow the instruments for lessons and practicing kept me out of my parents’ hair for an extra hour after school, so I was allowed. They liked the violin better, they…” His voice faded and a shadow passed over his features. He cleared his throat and threw back the last of his coffee before continuing. “When I got good enough, I busked, playing fiddle brought in more money than playing clarinet on a street corner. And playing well enough encouraged people to not only toss me some pocket change but also stop and listen which let my folks pick their pockets. I spent a lot of time playing the violin.” She could feel him pulling away from her again. And goddamnit she didn’t want to lose him again.

_Angels and prostitutes, they might look the same/ And if to Hell we’re going, I’ll see you there_

“I always knew you were a great guy, Archie, but why didn’t you ever tell me just how interesting you are? You’ve lived all over the country, you play two instruments well enough to be in a band and make some money, and you have a custom beer pong table in your garage. You know what my greatest accomplishment is? I spent the two weeks that Blair Witch wannabe movie crew was filming in Storybrooke woods pranking and scaring the shit out of them didn’t get caught. That’s it, that’s my accomplishment.” She was thirty years old, had lived in the same town since she was five, still lived with her grandmother, never went to college, and spent her days pouring coffee and flirting for tips.

“Wait, you mean _the Dark One’s Curse_?” He actually took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at her. “Cult classic, _the Dark One’s Curse_, famous for having actually been haunted by a forest being? That was you?!”

“Me and a couple of friends – Sean, Ashley, Laurène Weiss – you probably didn’t meet her, she went to the University of Maine and now lives in Bangor, I think. Couple of others. But yeah, it wasn’t hard. We knew the woods, they didn’t.” She shrugged. The Storybrooke woods had never frightened her, even as a child when the older kids told ghost stories. To her they were always peaceful, welcoming, enchanting even. She used to go hiking through them all the time. Whenever she needed to get out of the house that was where she went. The trees didn’t care if she screamed, or cried, or drank underage and danced naked around a bonfire. House parties were always too risky, but forest parties – forest parties were where it was at if you were a Storybrooke high schooler. In fact, Ruby was certain, if they went out in the woods right now and dug around in any of the old hollow trees and stumps, they’d come up with cases of Keystone Light and forties of Colt 45.

“Ruby, there’s a Wikipedia page about that movie and the hauntings. There are pictures!” She hadn’t been on the page in years, but what she remembered those pictures were a joke. Blurry, black, out of focus. Sure, she was in some of them, but at least one it was just a picture of the stump they hid their hooch in with some empties on the top and bad lighting.

“Okay, one of those pictures is of a tree. But that’s not the point. Why do you know all this? _The Dark One’s Curse_is like the shittiest horror movie ever.” Ruby loved horror movies. She loved all kinds of them, from the classics, to the new ones. The really good ones, but most of all the really bad ones. Give her buckets of Kensington Gore and a creepy doll and a dumbass protagonist that decides running up the stairs and into the room with only one exit is the right idea. *_Chef’s kiss*_, an invincible, speed walking killer and a morality play about teenage sex. That was the shit.

“When I told my colleagues, I was moving to Storybrooke they sat me down and told me all about the eldritch horror that allegedly lived in the woods.”

“And you believed them?”

“No,” His denial didn’t sound particularly convincing. He rubbed the back of his neck. “How’d you mimic the _tapetum lucidum_?”

“The what?” Archie rarely used jargon or other big, incomprehensible words. It was something she’d always appreciated about him; he was smart but never showed off.

“The eyeshine animals have. Most of the photos have glowing eyes.”

“Oh that, Laurie was on the swim team, so we used a pair of her old goggles and stuck some reflective tape on them.” The outfit had been simple. She had lots of black underarmor from years on the track and cross-country team, they stuck some moss on the suit and painted her face with hunter’s camo paint. She wore the modified goggles on her cheekbones (under her eyes so she could still see, but still roughly where a humanoid creature’s eyes should be), and some antlers on her head and she was off.

“And the horns?”

“You know that antler headband I wear every Christmas with the real deer antlers?” Ruby had briefly dated Joanna McLeach, whose father was a big-time hunter. Their house was full of his trophies. Jo had given her the antlers for a Halloween costume, helped her set them into the headband she still wore on occasion, now more for Christmas than for trick or treating.

“Ruby, you claim that I’m accomplished, but I’m not the one who turned into a cryptid. You’re a local forest deity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may have turned into a collection of Archie head cannons held together vaguely by some transitions and a whiff of plot… I have unashamedly given both Ruby and Archie, but particularly Archie my weird taste in music. I’m not sorry.   
If you’re interested, I have a partial playlist for this fic on my tumblr: (https://trivialqueen.tumblr.com/post/188700852937/the-quiet-ones-a-playlist-by-trivialqueen-on). All of the tumblr content about this fic I have tagged as "The Quiet Ones AU" if you want more related stuff without any of my other ramblings. Come by and say hi, I love it when folks say hi.


	9. Written in the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road trip, part two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questionable astrology opinions within. I’m a pessimist, I’m also Capricorn so that’s to be expected. This has turned into the second chapter of me just having head cannons and feels and the characters doing little else but having random conversations. I can’t decide if this is a bug or a feature.

“For sandwiches we’ve got…” Ruby rustled around in the soft sided cooler her grandmother sent with them. “two PB&Js with raspberry jam; a turkey, bacon, avocado sandwich with cranberry mustard; and a prosciutto, goat cheese, and greens. So, what’s your poison? Classic or hipster?” They were pulled off at a rest stop (nothing but some toilets in a well-lit shed and an out-of-order vending machine) somewhere in the sticks of far west Massachusetts. The late September air was crisp, almost cold without a jacket, but absolutely marvelous after three hours in the car.

“Cran-mustard, avocado, bacon turkey… that’s not on the menu at Granny’s.” Rather than risk an actual forest deity by trying to find a picnic table, Archie spread the red checked blanket from Ruby’s trunk across the Camaro’s hood.

“Nope.” Ruby popped the ‘p’ proudly, “It’s my own creation, the avocado adds richness, but it’s balanced by the cranberry mustard, crispy bacon adds both texture and saltiness.”

“I’m not questioning it, but this is the most elaborate midnight snack…ever.”

“And what’s a more appropriate midnight snack?” She pushed the cooler toward him and hopped up on the hood, her long legs dangling over the nose of the Camaro. He chose one of the peanut butter sandwiches. He was a simple man with a pedestrian pallet, that and both alternatives sounded messy. Sitting in a car was bad enough without goat cheese on his shirt.

“Appropriate, I have no idea, but more likely is me eating fistfuls of shredded cheese out of the bag, standing in the open fridge at 3am.”

“Really?!” She said, with a mock scandalized tone, “are you a drunk?”

“No, just a bit feral when left to my own devices.”

“I’m not sure if I approve of you on your own then.” He’d never been so grateful for the dark, Archie knew his ears must be flaming. His parents had taught him to lie the way others taught their children to ride bicycles, and he had learned his lessons well. He never stuttered, shuffled, or looked up to the right, hid behind his hands or any of the other tells. He’d mastered all of it, except his ears. Ruby had never been anything but a friend to him but sometimes it felt like she was flirting with him. He knew she wasn’t, not really. He was too old for her. Even if he wasn’t a liar and a thief and a fucking fraud, he was still too old, too… wrong. Boring. Bland. She was vibrant and social and so full of life. He was a nerd in a tweed suit whose idea of a good time was a cup of tea, a novel, and classic jazz album on vinyl. He shouldn’t want a woman as brilliant and beautiful as her, but he couldn’t help his heart. For a time, they just ate, silence comfortable between them.

“I guess the boon of Storybrooke being literally the middle of nowhere is our relative lack of light pollution you can’t see the stars with streetlights." Ruby was now laying back on the hood of the car, looking up at the night sky.

“I never noticed.” A pale, cold hand grabbed his forearm.

“Come on, notice now.” She tugged him to recline back with her. The wool blanket was scratchy, but it was some insulation against the hard, rapidly cooling hood of the car.

“I thought you said streetlights ruined it.”

“They do, but we’re here now. ‘Sides, we can compare the sky now with what we can see in the Catskills.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” She said with authority, “Now shut up and enjoy nature’s beauty.” So, he did.

“So that’s Cygnus there.” She pointed up at the sky. “Even with the light pollution you can still see _Deneb_.” Despite what she said he couldn’t see anything, not that he’d tell her that. “And Capricornus is right there, or at least it should be, it’s really faint.” She moved her hand and pointed to another random patch of sky.

“Where?” Astronomy had never been his thing but listening to Ruby narrate held his interest much more than ancient man’s pareidolia.

“There, it’s faint but you can see _Dabih_ and _Algiedi Prima_, so the rest of the stars should be in between. Capricornus is kinda triangle shaped. Why anyone thought it resembled a sea-goat is beyond me.” She laughed.

“A sea-goat?”

“Yeah, poor Capricorns. Their constellation’s basically a triangle and an animal that doesn’t make any sense. Sure, a goat saved baby Zeus but where the hell is the fishtail coming from?” He could feel her shrug beside him, and then shiver. The chilly air had gone from bracing to downright cold. If he was wearing a blazer like usual, he would have offered it to her, but he’d been run out of his home underdressed. Hell, he was still wearing his moccasin slippers instead of proper shoes.

“It’s cold, we should get back in the car and on the road.”

“Just a little while longer,” She sounded so contented he didn’t press the issue, for now.

“It’s a lovely waxing Gibbons moon tonight.” Ruby pulled the edge of the scratchy wool blanket up over her like a burrito.

“Why do you know all this?”

“I was once a thirteen-year-old girl.” She said that like it should be obvious.

“Oh-kay?” Ruby turned toward him and propped herself up on one arm, keeping the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders. She was very close to him now, her spicy floral perfume playing with his senses.

“Every thirteen-year-old girl goes through an astrology and tarot card phase. I figured one of your classes went over that. It is known.” He could imagine Ruby at thirteen, all colorful hair and rockabilly style, pouring over tarot cards in a back-corner booth at Granny’s after climbing the bookcases in the library to get to the astrology books on the top shelf.

“I must’ve slept through that lecture during developmental psych.”

“Obviously.” She snorted. “This obsession dovetailed with a science unit on the stars and planets and followed on the heels of my mythology phase. So, I was obsessed and my old obsession, plus my current class work combined and reinforced. Long story short I was like _fixated_ on astrology and astronomy for two years. I still remember most of it.” Ruby had an exceptional memory. In his time at the diner (every morning for coffee, at least once a week for lunch, sometimes dinner for ten years) he’d seen her use her order pad only a handful of times. She could bring a table of six their drinks and food, with proper substitutions, after only repeating it back once.

“That was some excellent astronomy.”

“Now you want to test my astrology?” He’d just meant it as a compliment, but her eyes were dancing with joy. For that expression he’d agree to anything, he’d do anything.

“Sure. What’s my sign?” His mother had been into astrology, posing as a fortune teller was a great way to fleece people and it allowed her to wave away any of her personal failings (I’m a Scorpio, honey, it’s just how I am). He’d not paid much attention as a child and as an adult he’d not bothered.

“It’s not phrenology, I can’t just look at you and declare you a Pisces.” She laughed, and shivered, again. “you know, I’ve known you forever and you’ve never told me your birthday.” He’d never really celebrated his birthday; his parents certainly hadn’t been excited that he was born. Mario and Carla had made a big deal out of it the two years he’d lived with them, that was the first time anyone had marked the day with anything more than a story about how much pain he’d put his mother through.

“I’ll tell you my birthday if we get back in the car. You’re shivering.”

“Fine.” She sighed, sliding off the car hood, “But not because I’m cold.” She was almost believable, except for her chattering teeth.

They packed away their dark lunch and Ruby took her seat behind the wheel, adjusting the seat and the mirrors for a moment before setting off.

**…**

“So, your birthday.”

“Um…February 12th, 1965.” Ruby watched Archie squirm from the corner of her eye. It hadn’t been the most burning of questions she had about him, but she’d oft wondered idlily when his birthday was. He always remembered hers, leaving her an outrageously large tip every August 20th since she’d complained to him that she was stuck working on her twenty-first birthday. He also remembered Granny’s birthday and marked it, but never once said anything about his own. Perhaps he was a Christmas baby, that was about the only day of the year she didn’t see him.

February 12th, right before Valentine’s Day. Easy enough to remember. She had five months or so to figure out how to mark the day for him since he didn’t seem to. 1965 was a bit of a surprise. He had such a youthful face that hardly seemed to change in the years she’d known him. She knew, of course, he was older than her, he was a PhD professional when they met after all, but she’d never thought about it. It had never mattered. She did some math in her head… sixteen years. That wasn’t too bad. A bit like having a crush on the babysitter.

Of course, the babysitter wasn’t interested in her _that way_. He was a phenomenal friend and she should be content with that… and she was. She just also wanted to kiss him until the stars fell from the sky, to cuddle up with him every night as they slept and be by his side every day to face life, together.

“Let’s see February 12th, you’re an Aquarius.” She could see it, Aquariuses were shy, quiet, and smart people. Although he was also considerably more reliable and open to disagreement than the sign suggested, probably the influence of his moon sign. Or perhaps it was because astrology wasn’t real and she clung to it because it had fascinated her as a child and gave her a sense of order and predictability in an uncertain world. Why not trust what the stars said? It was as good a heuristic as any.

“Is that good?”

“Zodiac signs aren’t ‘good’ or ‘bad’, they just are. Aquarius is an air element ruled by Uranus and Saturn. Traits include being original, progressive, and independent. Into helping others, intelligent conversation, and good listening.”

“All sounds pretty good.” She could see him smiling. It was a relief, for a moment today (well, yesterday now) she feared he’d never smile again.

“It also means you’re aloof, bad at expressing emotions, temperamental, and uncompromising.”

“Oh.”

“Your sign’s based off Genymede, who was such a beautiful man that Zeus fell in love with him and whisked him away to the heavens to serve as cup bearer and twink to the Gods.”

“That’s a lot to live up to. Although, Zeus isn’t exactly known to have the highest standards.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short, Archie.” _If I were a shapeshifter goddess I’d turn into a bird and steal you away to be my kept man in heaven_.

“So, what – what’s your sign?” He was blushing again, she could tell.

“Leo. Textbook Leo.”

“The lion.”

“Yep. Fire sign, ruled by the sun. Natural leaders, confident, dramatic, passionate, creative, and _extremely difficult to resist_.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him and watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed. She was a proud Leo and believed the ascribed traits suited her well. But for being ‘extremely hard to resist’ Archie Hopper seemed quite capable of it. Either that or the good doctor was deaf, blind, and stupid because she felt like she was so awkwardly oblivious in her crush.

**…**

Gold’s cabin in the woods was near the town of Avonlea, on the shore of Spinner’s Pond. Number 6 Spinner’s Wheel. Not that the street address did much to help them, their GPS started acting up once they hit March County.

“What do Gold’s notes say?” Now she understood why the Scotsman insisted on writing the directions out. At the time she’d assumed it was because he was an old dinosaur. Afterall, he used a cash register with big punch buttons from like 1880 in his shop.

“I have no idea; Gold’s handwriting is worse than _mine._” She’d not really seen Archie’s handwriting, but he was a doctor and she was pretty sure illegible handwriting was a required course. “Christ almighty.” He swore, turning on the overhead light, propping his glasses on top of his head and holding the half sheet of notebook paper so close to his face his nose brushed it.

“Ok, I think I’ve found a pattern in this chicken scratch. We’re on NY-23 W, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok, then we need to turn left at…Treebeard? Then when we come to the fork in the road we go right.”

“When we get home remind me to tell Gold he’s shit at giving directions. How the hell are we supposed to see an Ent in the dar- Holy shit!” The headlight pulled a looming shape from the dark. She was proud of herself for not slamming on the breaks and bouncing both of their heads off the dash. Beside the road was honest to God Treebeard. In reality it was maybe three slim birch trees that had grown together over time giving the impression of two separate legs, a thick, twisted body and two fat arms which split into sturdy branches at the ends. Which made it look like fucking Treebeard out to destroy Isengard.

“Alright. That’s Treebeard. So now we turn left.” There was indeed a road, paved but unlit and poorly labeled.

They came to the fork in the road and took it followed by: "Go a mile past the hoarders’ place" and "cross the troll bridge" until finally, "the cabin’s on the left, if it’s got a red door you’ve gone too far.’”

The cabin was a 1,500 square foot A-frame made of black. It stood like a void in the starry sky more than as a place with distinct features, even in spite of the few small light sources dotted about. There was a string of lights stretched over a gravel drive, hanging from what looked like the chimney and strung to a few nearby trees. There were industrial looking lamps on the outside of the house, casting warm triangles of light. But the glow was not enough to offset the mass of looming blackness.

“This must be the place.” Archie observed as Ruby pulled the Camaro up beside it. Just out of range of the headlights Spinner’s Pond quietly lapped against the shore. There were other properties along the road (apparently with a red door) but good-sized trees served as privacy fencing and standing on the front porch it really felt like they were utterly alone in the woods.

“Silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House.” Ruby recited softly, more to herself than anything, as Archie fished the door key out of his pocket. It wasn’t a well-suited comparison, in fact it fit like a set of clothes three sizes too big. For one, this cabin had not stood for eighty years, it was too midcentury modern for that. It also didn’t feel like it was going to kill her (although that was probably what Eleanor Vance thought too). It was just an unsettling house in the woods and for an unsettling house one had to quote Shirley Jackson. Ruby didn’t make the rules.

“Well, whatever walks here isn’t alone anymore.” He opened the door wide onto more darkness. “After you.”


	10. There was only one bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archie and Ruby have arrived at Gold's cabin in the woods. You'll never guess what kind of sleeping accommodations it has...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: It’d be a fairytale reality indeed if I owned Once Upon a Time or anything associated with the show.  
I make no apologies for the cliches in this chapter.  
Also, I spent most of my time listening to "Underwear" by the Magnetic Fields while I was writing this. Check it out, you won’t be sorry.

From darkness into light. Ruby found the wall switch under her fingers and flicked it on. It was blinding. The outside of the cabin was almost exclusively black, the inside was almost exclusively white. What wasn’t white was a light, rosy colored wood. It all reflected the overhead lights.

“Bright light! Bright light!” She knew she sounded like a Gremlin but for a moment the world was nothing but that light. Once her eyes adjusted, she was able to better see the interior beyond the stark paint. The front door opened into a hall. The walls were bare, as was the floor, the long grain and lines of the natural wood floor drawing her forward. Behind her Archie closed and locked the front door.

“Gold wasn’t kidding about the lack of décor. I’ve seen patient wards with more personality than this.”

There were two doors on the right of the hall, and one on the left. All firmly shut. She’d come back and open them later, she was drawn instead to the end of the hall where it opened up. And opened up indeed, at the end of the hall was an open concept living/dining/kitchen with a soaring ceiling. A perfect A-frame all the way to the peak of the roof, the walls coming down at a steep angle.

“Oh God, it’s Scandinavian minimalist!” More white walls, light flooring and woodwork. Even at her most petulant, her most rebellious, a good decorating show could bring peace to the Lucas household. Antiques Roadshow was a particular favorite of theirs (they drank every time someone said veneer). Beside her Archie laughed.

“It’s very…”

“Clinical.” She supplied. The walls and woodwork might not have been so bad, but Gold hadn’t had more success in decorating this room than he had the entrance hallway. Without much furniture, or art, or textiles, the open space was cavernous, empty, and stark. To the right was a kitchen, grey concrete counter running the entire length of the wall, a matching island demarcating it from the rest of the room. To the right was the living space, a small TV sat on a slightly darker wood cabinet against the wall of the stairs. There was no rug, no coffee table between it and the grey love seat, a gold free standing lamp with built-in glass table beside it. Beyond the ‘living room’ was a table set for four, the dining room, apparently. And in the far-left corner of the room a black freestanding midcentury fireplace was the only dark spot in the entire room. The far wall had four glass doors, currently looking out onto blackness. A curtain rod hung over the doors, but it too was bare.

Instead of art on the walls, which would have never had worked given the pitch of them, there were skylights. Skylights everywhere, the starry night certainly a poetic substitute for art. Although not one that lent any warmth or texture to the room. Archie left his duffle on the floor by her feet and walked into the center of the room, his head craned back to look up at the ceiling twenty feet above them. He slowly turned on his heels, taking in everything, a whistle on his lips.

“This place is lovely, in its own way. Or at least it could be. It’s a sad state of affairs when I’m the most colorful thing in a place.” It was Ruby’s turn to chuckle. He once again sold himself short. He was far from some washed out, bland figure. He wore a lot of earth toned clothing, which in addition to being a color were also often wonderfully textured. Tweeds, flannels, corduroy, houndstooth, and herringbone. He wore wools, silks, cotton and velvet. Then there was, of course, his vibrant red curls and striking blue eyes.

“Hopefully there’s been more effort made in the bedrooms.” She offered.

Leaving her rolling suitcase beside his canvas duffle they headed back down the hall. The first door yielded a bathroom, more pale wood, white walls, and concrete. It had a shower/tub combination and a washer and dryer in a corner nook. Above the appliances were open shelves, out of the lone basket poked a package of toilet paper and a few bottles of cleaner and detergent. There was also a stack of towels, they were, quite daringly, shades of navy and forest green. Behind the door on the other side of the hall from the bathroom was a bedroom that was almost completely decorated. There was a nice-looking queen-sized bed centered between two windows and flanked by matching nightstands topped with complimenting lamps. The bedding was a textured light grey with throw pillows in shades of grey, white, and gold. An ombre gold rug tied the room together. Beside the door a dresser stood and in the corner a chair in the same grey textured fabric as the bedspread. It was far from a riot of color, but mirrors and fabric and furniture filling the space made it by far the most inviting. There was finally some depth and warmth.

“Of course, he decorates with gold accents.” Ruby was hardly shocked by the color choice. Although the minimalist design pallet did surprise her, Gold’s antique and pawn shop was a magpie’s delight. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall the shelves fairly groaned under the stuff he had. According to Ashley who worked as a maid and cleaned for Gold twice a month, his pink Victorian on Ravel was equally as full of curiosities and clutter. There was probably something to be said about the fact he had homes decorated in two extremes with nothing resembling a middle ground, but it was four in the morning and psychoanalyzing people was Archie’s job, not hers. Speaking of the Psychologist, he’d peaked over her shoulder at the first bedroom and then headed down the hall to the final door. He was now standing in the entry, frozen, one hand still resting on what she assumed was the interior light switch. He jumped about a mile when she touched his broad shoulder to see around him.

Unlike the first guest room this space was undecorated. There were two sets of bunk beds built into the walls, all four beds bare, without even a mattress. The wall sconces were installed but the built-in shelves at the head of each bunk bed were empty.

“If I borrowed some of the pillows and a blanket off the other bed it wouldn’t be too bad to sleep on one of these bunks for the night. At my age my back wouldn’t object to a firm mattress.” He was rubbing the back of his neck again. It was one of his little tells of discomfort. And perhaps his neck was already rebelling at the idea of him sleeping on bare wood with only a throw pillow and a quilt for comfort.

“There’s a second floor. I bet there are more rooms up there. Don’t play the martyr yet.” Not that she would let him sleep in here. She wouldn’t even banish Pongo to this room.

Upstairs there was another sitting room which looked out over the open dining/kitchen area, built in bookshelves serving as a railing to the stairs and a partial barrier to the loft. It was also empty, except for a large blue and green Persian rug. There was a single door leading off this second living room and Ruby pushed forward like Amundsen. It was another hall, shorter than the first. To her direct left was a walk-in closet, to her right a pocket door revealed another bathroom, this time without the laundry and the tub. Instead a luxurious walk-in shower dominated the room (it was once again in what looked like grey cement against the contrasting white walls and blush colored wood).

And then there was the bedroom, obviously the master given the en-suite bath, walk-in closet and glass French doors which presumably opened onto the balcony they had seen over the front of the house. It had been illuminated by twin black farmhouse lamps. Some of the only light on the outside of the house. The balcony was also made of the same blush colored wood that was found inside and had wood paneling going from the deck to the peak, breaking up the blackness of the rest of the siding and the metal roof. The room was carpeted (beige, unsurprising) with the usual white shipboard walls. It had a good-sized dresser along the wall by the door with a large round mirror above it. There was a lovely rich blue velvet chair in the corner with a floor lamp tucked behind it. And that was it. There wasn’t even a bedframe let alone a mattress in the room.

Ruby felt her brain momentarily shut down.

There was only one bed.

There. Was. Only. One. Bed.

“You have got to be kidding me!” He knew he sounded hysterical. That was because he was starting to feel a little hysterical. It was bad enough his parents wanted to kill him. But then they threatened Ruby. THEN it was decided that the best course of action was to send him and Ruby away to a secluded cabin in the mountains. It had felt like either the set up for a slasher horror movie or a tawdry romance novel. Well, now there was literally only one bed in the entire cabin. There was no way he could just go somewhere else to sleep. The next town with a hotel was God knows how far away and their GPS wasn’t connecting to the satellites to be able to position them globally and it was four in the morning.

“Don’t freak out, Arch. I’ll just sleep on the couch.” Ruby, of course was as unflappable as ever, standing in the center of the room where a proper bed should have been. He looked at her from the top of her glossy ponytail to her black Chuck Taylors. She was nearly as tall as he was, a true Amazonian beauty and entirely too long to fit on the little loveseat downstairs.

“No, no. You take the bed; I’ll sleep on the couch. I’m used to it.” He was too. Growing up he’d often just slept on the trailer’s sofa when his parents hadn’t felt like putting forth the effort to assemble his bed. Now that he lived on his own, he often napped on the couch both in his home and, sometimes, in his office (that was the deciding factor in his office decorating – how comfortable were the sofa and chairs for falling asleep).

“No, I insist. You’d never fit on the sofa.” She moved passed him to the bedroom door, flicking off the overhead light as she did. He dutifully followed (he’d follow her anywhere).

“Ruby you’re not that much shorter than I am, it’s not like you’ll fit on there either.”

“Actually, depending on the heels I wear, I’m taller than you. But that’s not the point. The point is, you’re not sleeping on that sofa.”

“But I do it all the time. What do you think the sofa in my office is for?” She turned at the top of the stairs and gave him a wolfish grin.

“I knew you got up to more than just seeing patients on that thing!” The implication was clear, but he resolutely ignored it (his blushing ears not withstanding).

“Yeah, sometimes I nap on it between sessions. So, I’m the most qualified person to sleep on this sofa.”

“Not if I get there first!” And with that she was barreling down the stairs. Where she got the energy, he didn’t know considering he was so tired he felt like he was punch-drunk. But her energy was contagious, and he found himself following hard on her heels.

Ruby threw herself on the sofa with enough force to slide it back on the wood floor with a _screech_.

“Ha-ha! Hopper, possession is 9/10ths of the law. I’m going to sleep on the sofa. Whatcha gunna do about it?” She taunted, sticking her tongue out for good measure. As if sleeping on the couch was some grand prize instead of a subpar alternative to a real queen-sized mattress.

Archie didn’t think about it, in fact if he actually thought about what he’d do about it he would have never done it. He picked her up easily around her slim waist. She didn’t weigh that much at all, and despite his meek and mild personality he did go to the gym on occasion. Working out was a great stress relief. He and Hank Nemean had struck up an odd friendship in which the gym owner and former Mr. Universe helped him do some weight training and in return he listened to Hank work through his feelings about finding out at age 38 he was adopted.

Whatever she was expecting him to do, Ruby clearly hadn’t imagined picking her up, she shrieked as he lifted her off the love seat and immediately wrapped her arms – and legs – around his shoulders and waist, so that when he defiantly spun around with the intention of putting her on the floor and claiming the love seat for his own he over balanced and they both toppled back onto the couch. Archie landed with his back on the sofa, narrowly missing cracking his head on the armrest. His hands were still around Ruby’s waist, she landed on top of him, knocking his breath from his lungs. She was entwined with his limbs like ivy on a garden wall, her face only inches from his. Looking up at her he could see her gorgeous green eyes clearly. They were flecked with gold and WIDE in shock.

“Are you okay?” He’d not really meant to do any of this, but more than anything he never wanted to hurt her. She licked her lips, their signature scarlet long since faded away. Her natural lips were rosier and extremely distracting.

“Fine. I’m fine. Are you ok?”

Other than having the air knocked out of him and the most beautiful woman in his arms, practically sitting on his hips, who if he didn’t get his dirty mind out of the gutter was very shortly going to be all too aware of what the view did to him, he was fine. Totally fine.

“I’m sleeping on the sofa tonight Ruby and that’s final.” The couch was more than fitting for a dog like him. And hopefully mild discomfort all night would distract him from the tableau he currently found himself in. Ruby sat up but didn’t immediately disentangle herself from him. Lord help him. (He didn’t think there were any _bad_ sex positions, all had their merits in some form or another, but there really was nothing like the view one had when the woman was on top).

“Fine, you win – for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll take a turn on the sofa and we’ll alternate. And this is non-negotiable, you understand me?” She gave him a fierce expression before bracing one hand on the back of the couch and one hand on his chest and hoisted herself, finally, off his pelvis. He scrambled to sit up as well, wishing for a throw pillow that he could casually tip into his lap – just in case.

“Sounds fair. Now let’s unpack and get some sleep it’s,” He checked his watch. Micky was quite cavalierly showing 4:30. “Four thirty in the morning.” He’d not been up this late since he was in graduate school.

**…**

Archie scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned. He was fucked plain and simple. What had started as a bit of overtired stupidity ended up utterly mortifying. What was he thinking trying to pick her up? Of even touching her. She was his friend, she deserved better than that. Yet he had picked her up, felt her slight weight against his. Felt that same weight across his hips, not far from where he really wanted her to sit. That memory was going to appear in his dreams, and he was going to be powerless to stop it. He knew this already. There were already times when images of her long legs and short shorts appeared to him and it took a cold shower to get them out of his head again. Except he couldn’t take a cold shower now, at least not without Ruby finding out. He took a deep breath.

_Get it together._ Tugging at his hair he stood up. The best way he knew to keep from dwelling was to stay busy. He tossed his duffle on the kitchen island, on top of all the other dread he had surrounding this sojourn what Gold and Bae decided to pack him was always in the back of his mind. The duffle was packed exactly like all the men’s travel magazines said with his Dopp kit on top along with his Barbour Jacket and a blazer. Below that he had three collared shirts folded expertly, two sweaters and a Henley. The Golds had seen fit to give him four pairs of pants, a pair of joggers to sleep in, and his good leather boots plus a pair of loafers. He laid the items out on the island to take stock. In the exterior pocket he found socks, undershirts, and seven pairs of trunks. He wore a combination of boxers and trunks and of course the Golds not only had to touch his underwear but had gone through the drawer enough to only pull out his shortest, tightest pairs.

“Archie, I’ve got some linens for you.” He jumped a mile, the stack of trunks in his hand flying all over the counter and the floor, unfurling to add insult to injury. He’d been so caught up in his thoughts he’d not heard her enter the room.

“Kill me now.” He moaned and scurried to pick up his underwear before she could get a good look at them. It was a vain hope, but he clung to it.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Ruby very diplomatically refused to look at him or his strewn trunks and instead walked over to the sofa to deliver the stack of pillows and blankets. He could almost pretend that she hadn’t just seen his skivvies except for the way she gnawed her lower lip. _Fuck. _

“I’m going to get ready for bed, I’ll see you later this morning?” his voice shook and there was no way to pass it off for normal, but he tried to pretend like that hadn’t just happened.

“I guess this was what you meant when you answered the question ‘Boxers or Briefs’ with neither, huh?” Ruby gave him a suggestive eyebrow wiggle and disappeared behind the bedroom door with a laugh.

His face still burning so brightly he was certain Rohan was going to ride to his aid Archie brought his toiletry kit, the joggers and Henley into the bathroom with him. He’d really just thrown his underwear all over the kitchen in front of Ruby. On top of picking her up and pulling her on top of him on the sofa like some randy teen. At this point she should really just slap him. He’d chastised his stupidity the entire time he made up the sofa. Ruby had given him a pillow, a flat sheet and a blanket. Although at this point, he wasn’t sure if going to sleep was worth it, the sun would be up soon. In the Dopp Kit he found the usual suspects: toothbrush, razor, soap and aftershave, just as he would expect, even a bottle of ibuprofen which was kind of the Golds. And then he felt something else. Something he knew wasn’t his.

Condoms.

He dumped the bag out and skittering across the concrete counter went six condom wrappers. Considering he had thrown out the last of his condoms a few months ago because they had expired… not only were the Golds suggesting adult activities, they were actively promoting them. It was hard enough already to keep his feelings for one of his best friends in check. How the hell was he supposed to keep it together knowing there was only one bed but six condoms in the house?

**…**

Ruby closed the bedroom door and leaned heavily against it. What the fuck just happened. She could still feel his strong, broad hands around her waist and the way she’d wrapped around his body. The feel of him under her thighs. She liked riding to be sure but sitting there and looking down at him she just knew that his face would look even better framed by her legs. _Down girl_. She really shouldn’t be thinking like that about her best guy friend. Especially not if they were going to be spending all their time alone together. But God, sometimes he was just so damn cute, she couldn’t help it.

He had picked her up off the sofa like she had weighed nothing. Which maybe if he was James or Bae she wouldn’t have been surprised. She knew both of them worked out. But this was Archie… and he was stronger than she had thought both emotionally and physically. She knew his shoulders were broad but actually feeling the flex of muscles for herself… Ruby shook her head. They were just friends. After ten years of never once making a move it should be pretty clear they were _friends_.

She found spare bed things in the dresser: a few extra pillowcases and an alternative sheet set as well as a whole cloth quilt with a delicate bee motif in shades of yellow. Hopefully it would be warm enough for the night. She took one of the main pillows off the bed and headed out to the living area once again. She would keep a straight face when confronted with that damn sofa. She absolutely would.

Archie was standing at the Kitchen island, his canvas duffle open as he pulled clothes out. There were already stacks of shirts and trousers on the counter, a sturdy pair of boots at his slippered feet. She always loved watching him when he didn’t think anyone was looking. She liked watching people generally, but he had always been a particular favorite of hers. He was far from relaxed, his shoulders still up around his ears and now she fully understood why he was so tense. She doubted he’d ever fully relax until his parents were caught and behind bars again. Overall tension aside his face was smooth and relaxed in the way that told her he was thinking about something and his mind was a million miles away. He had a nice face regardless, but when it was relaxed (and especially when he smiled) it was impossible to think of him as over forty. It wasn’t that it was particularly youthful, yes, he could look boyish from time to time, but it wasn’t attractive because he looked young. It was how timeless he looked in moment like this. It made her heart stutter a little to see him. That and he had the sleeves of his quarter zip pushed up and the cuffs of the shirt underneath rolled to the elbow. Forearms and nice hands always, _always_ got her.

“Archie, I’ve got some linens for you.” Before she got too worked up again, she decided to announce herself. He’d clearly not heard her steps because he jumped and sent whatever he was pulling out of his suitcase flying across the kitchen.

He’d been pulling his underwear out of the bag. She could tell because a few pairs unfurled like a flag drawing her eye to them. Trunks. Not boxers, not briefs, not even boxer briefs but trunks. Tiny, tight trunks that would cling to that nice ass … and other things. They were black, charcoal and light grey and drew her eye like he’d just scattered jewels at her feet. This wasn’t quite as good as knowing what he felt like under her, but it was still information she’d be revisiting often…

“Kill me now.” He moaned, hurrying to pick up his underwear. Archie’s ears, cheeks, forehead, back of the neck all flaming as red as her favorite lipstick. His utter mortification was what snapped her out of her stupor. She shouldn’t stare, she should try and help dispel his embarrassment. Even if it was kind of endearing. With great self-restraint she shifted her gaze from checking his ass out as he bent to pick tiny pairs of pants off the floor to the sofa. Her arms were full of linens after all.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” And she hadn’t. She slowly walked over to the sofa and sat the pillow and blankets down, giving him plenty of time to collect his things if not his emotions. She worried her lower lip, to either keep from laughing or to keep from jumping him, she didn’t know.

“I’m going to get ready for bed, I’ll see you later this morning?” His voice cracked like a boy a quarter of his age as he tried to get a handle on his embarrassment. His cheeks were still bright pink.

“I guess this was what you meant when you answered the question ‘Boxers or Briefs’ with neither, huh?” She couldn’t help it, it was low hanging fruit, and humor was always her preferred method of interacting with the world. She gave him a playful wiggle of her brow to assure him she was teasing out of love and then rushed to the bedroom. Behind her she could hear him very softly swearing.

Back in the bedroom Ruby needed another moment to gather herself. They’d been in the cabin less than an hour and the fates were already fucking with her. She was not going to survive this weekend. Taking a deep breath, she knew that distraction was going to be her savior if she was going to keep her beloved friendship with Archie intact and not make a pass at him and a fool of herself. Her eyes fell to her rolling suitcase.

She had hated having to trust her wardrobe to someone else, but Ruby had to admit Belle and Emma had done a fine job in packing for her. She shouldn’t be surprised, Belle had excellent taste and Emma understood her style well, so between the two of them they should be able to curate a suitcase for her. The girls had given her a selection of clothes with the option to layer all the pieces to come up with more outfits than she hoped she’d actually have to wear. She had tanks and tee shirts as well as a long sleeve tee and her favorite red plaid shirt. Plenty of socks. A sweater, leggings, jeans, and her favorite red dress. Belle had packed her a pair of heeled ankle boots and Emma had thrown in a pair of practical walking shoes and a leather jacket. For sleepwear they had included one of her practical nightgowns, it was sturdy cotton and fell to almost her knees. She was both grateful but also disappointed they didn’t include any of her more exciting nightwear options. Did they not get the feeling that this was a dirty weekend? Over and over again she felt like the fates were trying to set her up… Compared to some of the stuff she owned the button front night shirt was extremely conservative. Inside her large leopard print pouch, she found three bras, which perfectly coordinated with six pairs of panties, an even split between thongs and other cuts, as well as a slip and two pairs of black tights, one sheer and one opaque. Ruby knew better than to read anything into the matching underwear, that was just Belle. They’d gone shopping together enough times since the Aussie had moved to town for Ruby to know that Belle always matched her underwear.

Ruby opened the bedroom door, nightshirt and toiletry bag in hand to find the bathroom door firmly closed, signally that Archie was in there getting ready for bed himself. Well, getting ready for couch. Ruby closed the door and turned back to the bed. It was a queen, that was more than enough space for two adults to get some sleep and not bother one another. It really wasn’t fair to make him sleep out in that open concept, minimalist hell but the offer of sharing a bed stuck in her throat. Ruby shucked her chunky cardigan followed by her striped tank, unbuttoned her red skinny jeans and resolutely refused to think about Archie doing this for her. Shrugging on the nightshirt she quickly buttoned it up before redoing her ponytail. Finally dressed for bed she opened the bedroom door to find the bath unoccupied. Quickly she ducked across the hall, noting that all the lights in the living room were now off. Although the space wasn’t entirely pitch black, the abundance of natural light meant the first cool rays of a new day were slowly creeping over the horizon. 

Once in the bathroom she quickly brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face before dumping out the rest of the makeup bag to find the small bottle of eye cream she’d hoped Emma had remembered to pack. Her quarter life crisis a few years ago had prompted her to drink more water and use moisturizer religiously. Out of the bag fell her favorite red lipstick, a travel size of her signature perfume, her razor, all the powders and potions she used on her face, in her hair, on her skin as well as foil packages. Six little foil packages declaring RIBBED FOR HER PLEASURE.

Condoms.

Six of them.

Ruby grabbed the closest towel to hand and screamed into it.


	11. Good Morning Starshine

Ruby was asleep by the time her head hit the pillow. She did not, however, stay asleep long. Years of working the morning shift at the diner had, very much against her will, programmed her body to get up early. Even if she had stayed up late. And so, she was awake again at 8am, despite not have crawled into bed until close to 5am. She glared at her cellphone as it told her this and resolutely plumped the borrowed pillow. For one three hours of sleep was not nearly enough. For another it just wasn’t fair. This was the closest thing she was going to get to a vacation for a while she deserved the right to sleep in like a normal person. Once upon a time she’d been able to sleep until noon. She flopped back onto the mattress and closed her eyes determinedly.

Sleep. She ordered herself.

Her body didn’t listen. Admittedly the room itself wasn’t helping. Those gorgeous skylights that let her see the stars last night didn’t have blinds as far as she could tell, which meant that now that the sun was up light, glorious, natural light filled the room. It was too bright to sleep, especially now that she was awake. With a heavy sigh she got out of bed. The house was quiet as she gathered up her toiletries and wardrobe for the day. There was no food, save the leftover sandwiches, she was pretty sure and as much as she loved prosciutto and fig that was not her idea of a breakfast. If she and Archie were going to stay in the cabin for even a day they were going to need to go to a store.

This was assuming they even had dishes, she realized halfway to the bathroom. Gold had said he was in the process of furnishing the place and given the distinct lack of stuff it was pretty likely dishes weren’t on his mind. Before they hit the store, they needed to figure out what if anything they had to work with. Curiosity piqued Ruby couldn’t hop in the shower and start her morning ablutions before she knew what was in the kitchen. Quickly she dumped her stuff in the bathroom before quietly on bare feet she crept into the cavernous living area.

The fridge was empty, as she expected, and she didn’t bother with the freezer. There was a microwave on the counter under some open shelving, on the shelves there were some empty glass jars. Perfect for storing bulk supplies like flour – if they had any. Exploring the kitchen island turned up the start of a very well stocked junk drawer and a cabinet full of cleaning supplies as well as a trash can and recycling bin. Beyond that nothing.

An old-fashioned tea kettle sat on top of the stove, so if nothing else they could make hot water. Under the counter there were a series of drawers and cabinets. Most were empty, but the one some hot pads and towels. There was a cutting board and set of mixing bowls in another. Beside the stove was a drawer with a chef’s knife and a paring knife in guards as well a motley crew of cooking utensils. Clean and new, yes, but randomly chosen. There was a whisk, corkscrew, and one cooking spoon but no spatulas, tongs, or any other useful cooking tool. Beside that she found a drawer with flatware to lay a complete, formal table for twelve. She was relieved to eventually discover plates and glasses in a deep drawer. On the wall opposite the fridge, beside the sliding glass doors was a rack loaded down with all the glassware for a fully stocked bar, as well as three bottles of wine on a small wine rack and an unopened bottle of Templeton Rye. Ruby let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the counter. Gold had his priorities straight after all. There wasn’t any furniture but at least there was whiskey.

Curiosity sated Ruby slowly made her way back to the bathroom. For a moment she’d completely forgotten what ‘Archie’s asleep on the sofa’ meant. She had been quiet; she’d remembered that part but somehow her brain had blanked on the fact that he would be sleeping if she looked at the sofa. Which she did and stopped dead in her tracks. Archie was still asleep on the small love seat, his feet sticking out over the end. They were bare and big. Well, probably proportional given his height, but sticking out like they were they just looked comically large. He had nice feet, as far as feet went, with high arches and long toes. The second toe was longer than the big toe. She remembered hearing somewhere that such an arrangement meant the person was descended from royalty. She also remembered hearing what people said about guys with big feet.

She quickly averted her gaze from his feet. The quilt and sheet she had given him last night were wrapped around him several times so that only his feet and his head plus one of his arms was free. The one free arm was slung over his face in a vain attempt to block the light that was pouring into the room from his eyes. It succeeded in covering most of his face from her gaze, but she could clearly see that his lips were parted, and he was snoring softly. It was enough to make him seem real. His ginger curls were a mess as far as she could see them poking up at all angles above his arm. He was wearing a grey shirt, probably because it was a bit chilly in the room, and she was deeply thankful. If he was sleeping shirtless after the events of last night, she’d have no choice but to either jump him immediately or open that brand new bottle of whiskey and self-medicate. He snorted a bit in his sleep and rolled more onto his side, it broke the trance he had over her and Ruby hurried back to the bathroom. A nice contemplative, and perhaps cold shower was in order.

Archie awoke to the faint sound of water running and a shit ton of sunlight. For a moment he wasn’t entirely sure where he was other than _not home._ There was no Pongo to great him and demand both attention and food. This was certainly not his bed and more than that it was not his bedroom with blinds and blackout curtains. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. This was not home because there was someone else with him. Someone in the shower.

Ruby.

The events of the last night came rushing back. His parents and Gatta, the drive, sleeping on the sofa. The Sofa. He sat up and fumbled for his glasses. He was now fully awake. And Ruby was in the shower. It wasn’t even that she was in the shower naked (although he also wouldn’t dwell on that fact), but it had been so long since he’d lived with anyone. Had the experience of domesticity with someone else. His house wasn’t empty but occasionally it was lonely. And the sound of someone else just living was reminding him of how lonely a life alone could be.

With the bathroom occupied for the time being Archie focused on tidying up his bedding. In the light of day, the cabin felt different. Less stark, more airy. There was nothing in the décor to distract you from the beauty pouring in from every window. The entire back wall of the cabin seemed to be made of glass and it gave a breathtaking view of Spinner’s pond. The pond itself wasn’t very big, maybe two miles in circumference, but it was gorgeous. This morning it was like glass, clear and smooth, it reflected the blue September sky and turning leaves like a mirror. Red, gold, green, and blue bright and vivid and utterly serene. The cabin in the woods might be the perfect place for a grisly murder, but for views like this he could see why people took the chance.

He absolutely could not sleep in socks (that was to say if he fell asleep in socks, he always woke up without them the next morning), the blush wood was lovely, but it was also cold. He quickly returned to his bag and stepped into his slippers and grabbed his cellphone. It was a terrible situation that brought him here, but there were some silver linings worth remembering. In the bathroom he could hear the water turn off, Ruby was out of the shower.

Which meant Ruby was naked that very moment in the bathroom.

He violently shook his head to clear himself of that dangerous line of thinking. And focused intently on trying to capture even a pale imitation of the scene before him with his camera. He took several pictures before moving on and checking his messages. There was no signal in the house. Not that he was surprised, there had been no signal to either of their phones last night to run the GPS either. But there was Wi-Fi, somewhere – he could see the little icon signaling options. Carefully he opened the tab. There was one network available, strong but locked. _The Queen will never win the game for [?] is my name_ was the network. He stared at it for a moment, his brain working slowly given the lack of sleep, food, and caffeine. He assumed the question mark - this name - was probably a clue to the password.

“The Queen will never win the game for _blank_ is my name.” He said aloud. It sounded like a riddle or perhaps a rhyme. Unfortunately, he’d never been very good at either unless it appeared in _the Hobbit_. He leaned against the door frame and stared out on Spinner’s Pond as he contemplated, rubbing his chin absently as he thought. His stubble was too light to see but he could certainly feel it grown in thick and scratchy last night.

“The Queen will never win the game…” _Spinner’s Pond_. He distinctly remembered a fairytale a librarian had read him once during a story time his parents had abandoned him at. It was about a miller who claimed his daughter could spin straw into gold. An imp had helped her do it, but she had to pay the price… or guess his name.

Except he couldn’t remember the name. Fairytales weren’t a part of his childhood. Real life had gotten to him too early.

Behind him he heard the bathroom door open and he turned to find Ruby exiting, still towel drying her luscious long hair. She was dressed for the day in thick, warm socks, black leggings and the red flannel shirt he knew was one of her favorites. When she felt him staring, she stopped and gave him a lopsided smile.

“G’morning. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Morning. And no, you didn’t have to, Apollo did.” He waved at hand to all the windows.

“He got me as well. I tried to go back to sleep but once I’m awake, I’m awake.” She flipped her head forward suddenly and then wrapped the towel around her long hair to make a turban with practiced ease before straightening up again. “Belle and Emma thought to pack me everything except a hair dryer.”

“Do you remember the fairytale about the miller’s daughter who had an imp help her spin straw into gold?” He asked. She gave him a puzzled look, her head cocking to one side.

“Why?”

“There’s a Wi-Fi network here and I think the password is whatever that imp’s name was, but I can’t remember it.”

“Oh.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Spindleshanks.” He started typing that into the password box. “No, wait. That’s not it. It’s Hobblefoot.” He looked at her blankly.

“I know for a fact that isn’t it.” She gave him a wide, teasing grin.

“Oh, come on, how can you forget _Rumplestiltskin_?”

“That’s it!” The name clicked and he quickly typed it into his phone. It took the device a moment but soon he was connected. “Success.” He announced.

“Excellent! Now we can at least look up directions to stuff before we get on the road.” Archie looked up from his phone, which was vibrating as all the new emails and messages that couldn’t get through before came in a wave.

“Why would we get on the road, we’re supposed to be laying low.”

“Well, for one thing, there’s pretty much nothing in this house but whiskey at the moment. So, whether we lay low or not we’re going to need provisions. Plus, I think going five hours away from where Gatta thinks you are is laying low enough, we don’t need to hide in the house and close all the blinds too. Let’s explore while we’re here.” He did not like the sound of that. Archie knew she was right, there was no need to hold up like he had back home, he was fairly certain his parents and Michael didn’t know where he was. Logically there was nothing to stop him from enjoying this little sojourn like it was a vacation. But in his gut, he still wanted to hunker down and hide. Turn off all the lights and pretend no one was home and not pop his head up from his safe little hole ever.

“Ruby, I-” he began and then an unholy grumbling from his stomach interrupted him. That PB&J sandwich was a long time ago. He could hear her laughing as he looked down at himself, shocked that he could make noise like that. He licked his lips and began again. “I’m apparently starving. Let’s go get brunch?” He could convince her that hiding was necessary later he was hungry _now._

**…**

Ruby remade the bed with the tight hospital corners her grandmother had taught her before flopping across it and undoing all the tidiness. She was a little surprised that Gold had wi-fi in the cabin considering the dearth of furniture. On the other hand, if he had a tv already, it made sense. And, of course, the fact that Gold had interesting priorities. The bar was also well equipped while the kitchen lacked even basic tools. Surprising or no, she was grateful for the wi-fi. Not only was it guaranteed entertainment it also meant that she could send and receive some text messages without having to go on a quest for a signal. And receive messages she did, the moment her phone connected to that overly long set up for a Rumplestiltskin joke.

Bzzzt! Text from Emma.

Bzzzt! Text from Belle.

Bzzzt! Text from Granny.

Bzzzt! Text from Graham.

Graham’s was the easiest message to respond to. Simple and straightforward. _Hope you and the Doc arrived OK. Let me know when you can. _Granny’s was slightly more hysterical but in a similar vain. She dashed off replies quickly.

The drive went fine, they arrived ok. The cabin is nice enough, she and Archie were well, just tired. Cell reception wasn’t great, but she’d check in often.

Belle and Emma were a different matter altogether. Yes, their texts were innocent enough, enquiring if she’d arrived at the cabin without any issues. But the subtext. The subtext in the form of six condoms was laced through every word.

Ruby opened a new group message for both Emma and Belle. Easier to yell at them both at once.

_Arrived at the cabin, safe and sound around 4am. _

_You’re both bitches and I hate you_

They were some of her best friends but the mind games with the condoms was just beyond the pale. As Ruby scrolled through her social media accounts and waited on replies from her various texts, she could hear the shower faintly from the bathroom. Archie was in the shower right now. _Naked_. Right now. All that separated his nakedness from her were two doors and maybe ten feet. She shook her head, violently. She was not going to say fuck it and go join him in that shower. She was not going to molest that dear, sweet man.

Who was naked in the shower. Ten feet away. Right now.

God, what was wrong with her. She’d had this crush on the good Doctor for ages now and never had she had so many inappropriate thoughts about him at one time. …Although up until now she’d never truly been alone with him. For all their years of knowing one another and their friendship there was always distance. Most of their relationship was conducted over a diner table, and even if he wasn’t reserved about his past that was hardly an intimate space. She’d never been to his house; he’d never been to hers. Sometimes she took her break and went to sit with him and have lunch or coffee but that wasn’t quite the same as sharing a meal. If they ran into one another outside of the diner they would converse – she’d occasionally walk with him and Pongo or they’d chat during the Miner’s Day celebrations but that wasn’t… that wasn’t watching him sleep or listening to him take a shower. The intimate little moments of sharing your life with someone. It was exactly what she was craving too. No wonder all the fantasies were coming to her at once. It’d been a bit of a crush in the confines of the diner but now she was seeing just exactly what she could have.

Her phone buzzed, breaking her from her thoughts.

_Belle_

_I have no idea what you’re talking about x_

Ruby rolled her eyes; she could see the librarian smirking behind that letters. A few moments later Emma chimed in.

_Emma_

_Yeah, we packed all your high maintenance shit, so what did we do? Also, glad you and Archie arrived safe in the woods_

_Ruby_

_Look, one condom – ha-ha very funny. But SIX?! He’s my friend. This isn’t a dirty weekend. _

_Emma_

_So make it one!_

_Belle_

_Yes! Trust us, we’ve seen how you two look at each other. He might be a friend, but the way he looks at you, he’s also harboring some decidedly ungentlemanly desires under all that tweed. x_

_Ruby_

_You’re crazy. _

_Emma_

_No, we’re not. Now get yourself some and thank us later._

Ruby was about to fire off a response when there was a knock on the ajar bedroom door. She turned to see Archie pushing it open, he was clean and fresh, dressed in another casual outfit that her momentarily distracted. He wore an olive-green shawl collar sweater over a dark denim shirt and rich brown cords, those big feet in grey wool socks. No tie, no blazer. The top two buttons of the shirt were even undone. All of the usual barriers were gone. She took a deep breath, praying it was subtle and licked her lips.

“Have you had a chance to look for a place to eat yet?” She shook her head.

“I was about to but had to check in with everyone first.”

“Ah, I had to do the same. Graham assures me Pongo has adjusted as well as he can to staying with him. He sent me a great picture of Pongo completely dead to the world in front of the fireplace.” He handed her his phone with the picture of a very happy doggo sprawled out on the rug.

“Dawww. I’m glad he’s happy.” She handed him his phone back just as her stomach rumbled. “So, breakfast?”

**…**

The Bluebird Diner was in Avonlea, only a few minutes from the cabin once they found their way to the main road. The diner itself was just off main street, housed in a gorgeous art deco building. It had the distinctive curved corners and glass brick popular in the 20s and 30s. A decorative clock rose from the flat roof like a tiara, 10:30 it read. Inside it maintained the original deco features while also incorporating more modern elements.

“Morning!” A woman in a robin’s egg blue tee shirt greeted them as she bustled past them with a trey of drinks. “Sit anywhere ya like, Katie will be with you in a mo’.” Ruby surveyed the diner quickly, it had kept most of the original features, from the black and white geometric tile on the floor to the sunburst pattern radiating out from each of the ceiling light fixtures. Ruby chose a booth beside one of the windows, away from the door. Her professional curiosity was piqued. She didn’t often go to diners since she worked at the only one in Storybrooke, watching how other places worked – and judging them – was either going to be a lot of fun or put her off her breakfast. She slid into the booth with a great view of the floor as well as the order counter and bar. Archie slid across from her.

“It almost feels like a betrayal being here.” He said with a teasing smile.

“You’re having your breakfast with me, so I’d say you’re still our most loyal customer.” She teased back. He always had his breakfast with her, this was the first time she would be having her breakfast with him.

“Oh good,” He signed dramatically. “I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of Granny.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” She agreed with a wolfish grin. His gulp was slightly less theatrical. Archie looked like he wanted to ask more but their server arrived. She was a petite African American girl, maybe twenty. She wore the same robin’s egg blue V-neck tee, as well as a bright magenta smile, and a jaunty yellow scarf in her short, natural hair.

“Hi, my name’s Katie.” She introduced herself as she handed them glasses of water in freezing cold chrome cups and laminated menus with bright blue strips of paper clipped to each. “I’ll be taking care of you today. Our drinks and seasonal specials are on this card.” She gestured to the blue piece of paper. “I personally have been loving the orange cardamom latte, much livelier than pumpkin spice in my opinion. Can I get you folks anything before I leave you alone to read?”

“I’ll have a Dirty Dude, please.” A white Russian version of a Chai latte sounded like a great way to kick off her impromptu vacation.

“Coffee, please.” Good old Archie, consistent to the last.

“Do you want anything in it? We have Half-n-half, whole, skim, and almond milk, sugar?” Ruby watched as the tips of his ears turned slightly pink and she knew what he was about to ask for.

“Do you have any ground cinnamon?” Adding cinnamon to hot drinks was a Granny’s signature. One she had come up with. She never knew of another diner to offer cinnamon alongside the milk and sugar. It was most popular added to hot chocolate but a teaspoon in coffee brought out the sweetness of the beans without feeling sugary.

“Ground cinnamon.” Katie repeated back, her pen poised on the order pad.

“Yes, please. About a …” He looked to her questioningly.

“Teaspoon. About a teaspoon mixed in.” The waitress nodded, repeated the order back and then left them.

“I’ve been serving you coffee fixed the same way for years and you’ve not figured out how to make it yourself?”

“No. Graham was right, no one knows how to make a cup of coffee like you do. So, I stopped trying to imitate it. Why do you think I stop by for a cup every morning?” She should have known he wasn’t coming to the diner every day just to see her. Emma and Belle were mistaken. He wasn’t interested in her beyond friendship, and apparently her coffee skills.

“And here I thought you were comin’ in to see me.” She didn’t know why she said it, she certainly didn’t need it confirmed by him that she was in the friendzone.

“That’s why I come for lunch and dinner.” His face was buried in the menu, but his ears were bright pink, and she knew he wasn’t entirely joking. Her spirits were suddenly much higher. With a smile she turned to her own menu.

The Bluebird’s menu was divided into ‘Eggs’, ‘Griddle’ and ‘Lunch’. Most of it was standard diner fare, the same that she served every morning at Granny’s. Biscuits and gravy, pancakes advertised as ‘big as your head’, Denver omelets, that sort of thing. There were also some fancier items like truffle scrambled eggs, shrimp and grits, and crab cake eggs benedict. All of it sounded good.

Ruby quietly shifted her focus to her breakfast companion. He was still resolutely focused on reading the menu, the light from the window making his hair shine a bit golden. When he actually ate breakfast at Granny’s he always got one of two things; either the oatmeal with stewed apples, if it was a cold day or what they called ‘just breakfast’ which was two eggs (he liked his scrambled) with bacon, home fries, and two slices of toast.

“Let me guess.” She said after a while, “You’re deciding between the seasonal oatmeal and something from the eggs section.” His head shot up and he looked a bit chagrin.

“I could surprise you, maybe I’ll get the Butch Jones.” He challenged with an attempt at a fierce look. Her eyes dropped from his to the menu: Apples and sausage in a chili maple syrup over French toast the description read. It did sound good. And big.

“That would surprise me, but something tells me you’re not going to.” She narrowed her eyes at him, calling his bluff.

“You know me too well,” his bravo fell away. “It does sound good though, but I’ll probably get the truffle scrambled eggs with root vegetable hash, more my speed.” She gave him a triumphant smirk. _That’s right, Archie Hopper, I know you. And I know you’re nothing like your parents._

It’s not fair,” he continued. “You know my food preferences better than I know them and I can’t say the same. We’ve never eaten breakfast together.” It was true, although she’d taken her break with him a few times, sharing a cup of coffee or sometimes even lunch, they’d never shared a breakfast together. And that somehow made the morning feel intimate. The moment was broken by the return of Katie, a rocks glass and heavy white mug in each hand.

“So, I have a Dirty Dude and a black coffee with cinnamon.” She said as she placed each drink on the table. “Do you think you’re ready to order or would you like a bit more time?” Archie gave her a questioning look; she knew he was ready.

“I’m ready,” She told the younger woman with a smile. “I’ll have the Walt, please.” A waffle sandwich with bacon, lettuce, tomato, avocado and a fried egg, it sounded both amazing and amazingly messy and as soon as she ordered it, she realized there would be no dignified way to eat it. _Damn._

“And may I have the truffle scrambled eggs?” He gave the waitress a smile along with his menu. After assuring her they didn’t need anything else they were once again left alone.

“What brings you folks to our side of the mountain?” The woman who had invited them to sit where they liked was back with water. She was older than Katie with grey brown hair flying away from her loose chignon and a thicker eastern New York accent. Archie felt himself freeze, he and Ruby were enjoying a companionable breakfast… suddenly there were headlights and he was a deer. Then he felt someone take his hand.

“Just little fall break,” She gave the other woman a glowing smile, stroking her thumb over his fingers as she held his hand, “It’s our anniversary.” He felt his jaw hit the table before quickly trying to hide his shock. He supposed this was the preferable answer rather than the truth which was ‘we’re on the lam from my murderous parents and their associate’. But still, he’d not imagined Ruby would ever be celebrating an anniversary with him, even in the fake dating sense. He couldn’t imagine her wanting him, for real or make believe.

“Oh lovely! Do you have specific plans?” The woman didn’t bat an eye at them. It had to be obvious this wasn’t what it seemed, despite the ease with which Ruby lied. She was beautiful, young and sparkly. He was too old for her, what did he have to offer?

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Ruby, who squeezed his hand and flashed a wolfish smile.

“Oh, you know, getting up to the usual.”

“Like hiking!” He spluttered, his voice sliding up in octaves in a way it hadn’t in decades. He probably sounded a bit hysterical, but Ruby had _winked_ at the woman. And the woman winked back.

“Well if you’re thinking of _hiking_ you might want to do it tomorrow; it’s going to storm today.” God, she probably thought hiking was a euphemism for outdoor sex, given that wink. Archie could feel his ears burning so bright and hot he wouldn’t be surprised if Smokey the Bear didn’t show up to lecture him about preventing forest fires. Ruby on the other hand turned a skeptical eye to the window - the sun was shining, filtering through the leaves and painting the table with shades of red and gold and green.

“I know it don’t look like it now, but I can feel it. My shoulder’s been acting up and that always means it’s going to rain. Today’s the day for cozy activities.” She declared solemnly. Cozy activities. Did this woman have sex on the brain or did he?

“Eve-Ellen’s our resident weather expert.” Katie appeared beside her colleague, pitcher of water and pot of coffee in hand. “Top up?” They both pushed their water glasses forward while Eve-Ellen filled Katie in on the information she had just learned.

“These fine folks are here for an anniversary long weekend.”

“Exciting. If you’re looking for stuff to add to the itinerary Olana is worth a visit. They’ve got an exhibition on right now about 19th century mountain painters from both Europe and America that’s really interesting.”

“Olana?” Considering it was midmorning on a Friday and they were the only people in the diner aside from two tables of retirees having their respective coffees and gossip, he was sympathetic to the staff coming to chat them up. He hoped the more he kept them talking about things to do in the area the less they’d ask questions about him and Ruby. Ruby who still hadn’t dropped his hand.

“You and your artists, girl.” Eve-Ellen rolled her eyes affectionately at the younger woman.

“Olana is Frederic Edwin Church’s home over in Hudson, the space itself is a gorgeous Middle Eastern Victorian mansion, it’s also got a great park around it, and does exhibitions on not just Church’s art but other related works – like the Mountain artists. There’s a two-mile hike that’ll take you across the Hudson River and over to Thomas Cole’s house and studio if you want to do the full Art history thing, but I like Church better.”

“Ooo that does sound interesting. Archie let’s do that.” There was no way to reiterate his plan of laying low until it was safe to go home without Eve-Ellen and Katie getting exactly the wrong idea. Plus, there was no way he could deny her when she looked at him with those big, green puppy dog eyes.

“Anything you want, dear.” The endearment rolled off his tongue before he realized he was even speaking. It felt natural. More than that, it felt good. She was dear, to him and so many other people, but especially to him. She beamed at him, her cheeks a little pink.

“Well, if you’re going to go over to Hudson you might as well give Remy over at _Oiseau Bleu_ a call. Tell him Eve-Ellen sent ya, and you’ll get a table.” From out of her apron she produced an order pad and a pen. She jotted down three lines, ripped off the page and handed it to him with a serious expression. “I mean it, call Remy, tell him Eve-Ellen sent you. It’s your anniversary, treat yourselves.”

“Thank – Thank you.” Her penetrating gaze was a bit unnerving, especially how quickly it came and then left again. When she stood back, she was all smiles and smirks.

“Well, I best get back to work, I’ll take that coffee pot from ya Katydid, can’t let the grumpy old men go uncaffeinated.” She jerked her head toward the table of retirees and flounced off with a smile.

“Now that your dinner plans are sorted, can I get you anything else?” Katie asked with a bright smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bluebird Diner of Avonlea is inspired by some of my favorite breakfast places. If you’re ever touring college towns of the Midwest, I can’t recommend these places highly enough. Two are in Iowa City, IA: The Bluebird Diner and the Hamburg Inn No. 2 which is on Linn street. The third is in Columbia, MO: Cafe Berlin. They are all home to some of my favorite memories. 
> 
> For those interested I have a tumblr where I post all kinds of stuff, including stuff about my writing. Here, and there, my name is Trivialqueen. If you're on my tumblr and only interested in stuff pertaining to this story search for the tag "The Quiet Ones AU". And feel free to say Hi, I love it when people say hi. 
> 
> I promise there will be more of 'The Quiet Ones' coming at you in 2020, but for now I'll leave it here and wish you all a very happy New Year, I hope it's a roaring good time ;)


	12. A Cabin in the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own neither Once Upon a Time, nor the Friday the 13th film series. I don't own much of anything at all, aside from the mistakes and a handful of OCs. 
> 
> If you're interested in more content like this, or want an unnerving look into my mind, visit my tumblr: tirvialqueen.tumblr.com. I've tagged all relevant content to this story as "The Quiet Ones AU"

Rain lashed against the many windows of the cabin as soon as she crossed the threshold. Eve-Ellen had been right, it was raining. In the time it took for them to get groceries the skies had gone from sunny and blue to grey and cloudy to now, completely black and raining heavily. The temperature had dropped precipitously. Ruby was on the one hand grateful to be back in the cabin, where it was warm and dry. On the other hand, being shut all day in a cabin with hardly any furniture and the man she was pining for was the opposite of her idea of a good time. Even if she was alone in a furnished space she hated being caught inside all day.

Brunch had been enlightening.

It wasn’t often she got to go out to eat, especially for breakfast. Working for the only diner in town meant she served breakfast for a living. She rarely had a morning shift off, and when she did, she preferred to sleep in rather than getting dressed and leaving the house. Plus, the diner was the only place that served breakfast 6/7 days of the week. Going into the diner on her day off was never going to happen. The novelty of a diner she didn’t work at, however, was secondary to the experience of eating breakfast with Archie.

He was a charming dining companion of course, attentive, but also willing to sit in pleasant silence. He was professionally good at drawing people out, which meant in addition to pleasant silence, he’d got her talking about Patti Smith’s discography and hung on every word. It was so easy, over the highly polished lacquered table, to imagine what life with him could be like. Spending every morning across from his warm smile. Seeing him dressed in fewer than seventy-five layers. Discussing anything and everything with him and hearing him laugh.

She’d lied to their servers in part because posing as a couple was easier to explain quickly and without raising eyebrows than anything resembling the truth. Also, because sitting across from him, laughing, warning him about the egg on his face they had felt like a couple. It had felt right. And once she’d told the lie it only made sense to press the advantage and take his hand. Holding hands had been jettisoned from her mind as an intimate activity when at thirteen she’d discovered kissing. She’d not thought of it again, except with annoyance. In high school she’d hated it because couples holding hands turned the hall into a giant game of red rover, except you got yelled at when you broke the line. When her dates had tried to hold her hand as they walked, she’d always found it stifling and awkward. They were never walking at quite the same speed meaning she was either being drug along or dragging them along. It would get hot and sweaty and partners always seemed to grab her right hand as they walked meaning she was at a disadvantage trying to do anything. She had many skills but dexterity with her non-dominate hand was not one of them.

Taking Archie’s hand had been different. Probably because she initiated it herself. But possibly also because things always felt different with Archie. Taking Archie’s hand had also been necessary to keep him quiet while she took control of their narrative. He could be too nice sometimes, too honest. She understood why now, lying was something that reminded him of his parents, but still, sometimes an innocent lie was just easier. She’d kept holding his hand, even after Katie and Eve-Ellen had stopped chatting with him to keep the illusion up. And because she had wanted to. As they headed out the door, she’d heard Eve-Ellen declare them a ‘nice couple’ and she’d not been able to resist taking his hand again. It meant a lot that people looked at them and thought they looked right. It certainly felt right, and it was nice to have that confirmed by an outside source.

Back in the cabin Archie was carefully unpacking the grocery sacks, stacking like items on the counter and stuffing each empty bag into another empty bag. Before they had departed the Bluebird Diner, he had asked Katie where the nearest grocery store was. It hadn’t been too far, a lovely little independent grocer that would have made Ina Garten proud. Wandering the aisle basket in hand, the illusion of what life could be like was easy to maintain. It was impossible not to feel domestic grocery shopping with someone else. And now they were home. She could easily get used to such a routine. Brunch, grocery shopping, home together for the rest of the day. The sound of Archie puttering in the kitchen eventually pulled her from her fantasy of home ownership, productivity, companionship and rest.

Archie was grateful for the task before him. Anything to keep his mind off the turn his morning had taken. Waking up to the sound of her in the shower had stirred longing in him. Brought to the fore that somewhere along the way alone had become lonely. And then of course there was brunch. _“Just a little fall break,” _She’d held his hand proudly as she smiled at the other woman,_ “It’s our anniversary.”_ The ease with which she had declared them long term partners had shocked him and warmed him. Even though she was speaking fictitiously it was still a small ray of hope that she didn’t think of them together as being completely anathema. She’d held his hand from that point until they got into her red Camaro.

She’d taken his arm when they arrived at the grocer, the basket in one hand, his elbow in the other and led him up and down the aisles. At first, he had wondered if she didn’t trust him in a grocery store, like linking arms was the adult version of a child leash. He knew bachelors had a bad reputation regarding domestic chores and cooking, but he’d at least hoped he didn’t come across as _that_ incompetent. Just past the produce section he realized, however, she wasn’t steering him like an errant child. They were wandering together. And in that moment, he bought into her fiction of their anniversary as well. Baring the last Superbowl when James had sent him with August (because neither of them trusted August to be responsible enough for the task, simple as it was) to the store to buy more beer and ice, Archie hadn’t been grocery shopping with another person in a decade. It was the sort of domestic activity he hadn’t realized he’d missed until he’d had the opportunity to experience it again.

He and Ruby had two very different grocery philosophies. Archie was a list person. Every Sunday he sat down and decided what he would eat for the coming week, he’d assemble the recipes if required and list out all the ingredients. If he didn’t, he was a terrible impulse shopper and would wind up with all kinds of snack food but nothing that would fit together to create a proper meal. If it wasn’t written on his list, he had a terrible time remembering to get it, even on the necessaries like toilet paper. Ruby didn’t seem to have this problem. As she strolled through the store, she showed true restraint when faced with the specialty bakery and an absolute knack for looking at something and knowing exactly what was necessary to turn it into a meal.

He stared at the butternut squash and goat cheese ravioli in his hand. Ruby had taken one look at it and squealed in delight. “I know exactly what to make with this!” She’d declared. He was glad she had some idea because for his part he was still clueless, and he’d helped her locate all the other ingredients necessary for the meal.

“We might be stuck in here for the foreseeable future, but I can’t live like this.” Ruby’s comment pulled him from his musings, and he realized he’d been staring at the ravioli this entire time. She was putting the groceries he’d unpacked away, the milk, bread, jelly, butter, and eggs already in their respective places in the fridge.

“I’m not sure we have much of an alternative.” He slid the remaining cold items over to her.

“But we do! There’s enough furniture dispersed throughout this house That we can at least make the living room comfortable, if not colorful.” He’d not realized she had been complaining about the décor, out of everything that was wrong with this situation. But he supposed she did have a point. There was bare wood in front of the sofa currently and a rug upstairs with literally nothing else in the room.

“So, you want to redecorate Gold’s cabin.”

“Not redecorate. Well yes, I want to redecorate it, but that’s not possible, so I want to rearrange it,” She flipped the loose braid she’d put her damp hair in over her shoulder and closed the door on the now semi-stocked fridge. “And then I want to find out if that TV works and if not, I don’t care if it’s raining, I’m finding a Target because I can only read so much on my phone before I go blind.” She grabbed the box of cereal with such conviction as she spoke, he couldn’t deny her.

Which was how he found himself helping to drag an 8x10 area rug down the stairs.

“I promise this is the worst of it.” Ruby kept saying as their grip kept slipping from around the cumbersome carpet.

“Short of dragging the bed through the house I don’t think there’s anything bigger or more awkward to move.” He grumbled. He was of course the one on the bottom of the stairs, taking the bulk of the weight as well as the stairs backwards. Sometimes he hated being nice. It was small solace that Ruby was bent forward at the waist trying to help and sometimes he got a flash of her cleavage. His mind was too preoccupied trying not to fall to fully apricate the beauty before him.

“Pivot!” He was, _finally_, at the foot of the stairs, head brushing against the slope of the roof.

“Yeah, not happening.” He could hear her rolling her eyes.

Apparently visual-spatial reasoning was neither of their forte, but after three attempts they eventually managed to get the rug into the living room. Ruby let out a whoop and high-fived him once the rug was placed before the sofa. He accepted the five and hoped she couldn’t tell how hard he was breathing.

“We are killin’ this. We could so totally have one of those home shows on HGTV.”

“I can see it now: _Move Furniture with Ruby and Archie_.” It wasn’t the best joke he’d ever told but it earned him a laugh, nonetheless.

“Come on, co-star I want to steal one of the nightstands and chair from the bedroom.”

Ruby had always loved rearranging furniture. Growing up she had vivid memories of watching Christopher Lowell and then shifting all the furniture in her room to make it feel fresh and new. She and Granny never really had money to buy new home décor, so she learned early on every trick in the book on how to make things feel new, even if they were anything but. As she got older the love of home design (and TV shows about it) didn’t go away. She felt a certain nostalgic thrill as she rearranged the furniture in the cabin to create a new, better room than before. She also felt a decidedly adult thrill as she watched Archie push his sweater sleeves up and roll the denim shirt’s cuffs up to match it. She was like a Victorian so entranced by the simple exposure of forearms and she didn’t care. This was now, officially, the most under dressed she’d ever seen Archie Hopper (watching him sleep not withstanding).

She dropped onto the floor in front of the mid-century media cabinet, keeping half an eye on Archie as he puttered around in the kitchen. After indulging her need to reorganize he’d declared himself in need of a tea and offered to brew up. Tea was not her drink of choice, but he had insisted on picking up a sampler box in the store. She supposed it fit him, he was a warm and cozy sort of guy and tea always struck her as something suited for either colonial protests or Beatrix Potter type cottages.

One side of the media cabinet held a slim record player and an intriguing stack of vinyl records, ranging from The Pogues, Big Country, The Exploited and Thin Lizzy to Lou Reed and, perhaps most surprisingly Tom Jones. More eclectic than Gold’s record collection though were the DVDs, standing in alphabetical order on the other side of the cabinet, along with the remote for the combination TV/DVD player. The Cabin had literally all of the _Friday the 13th_franchise, even the 2009 attempt at a reboot and the shitty _Freddy v. Jason_. There was a solid collection of horror films, all revolving around seclusion or a cabin in the woods, such as both _Evil Dead_ films, _Misery_, _Ravenous_, _Cabin Fever_, and _the Strangers_. Then there was _Risky Business_, _Trainspotting_, _Full Monty_, _Dead Fish_, and the complete series _Hamish Macbeth_.

“We’re in a cabin, in the woods, with no cell reception and he’s got nothing, but horror movies set in remote locations with no means of communication.” A steaming mug of lemon tea appearing beside her as Archie peered over her shoulder at the selection. He chuckled low in his throat. “I will never understand that man.”

“Oh, come on, this is perfect for watching a horror movie.” She looked up at him, he was bent over to see the titles and his face was so very close to hers. She could see him run his tongue over his lower lip before pulling back. Her fingers trailed down the spine of the first _Friday the 13th_ absently. He was absolutely distracting in his own understated way.

“We can watch that, but don’t come running to me when Jason Voorhees rises out of Spinner’s Pond.”

“Why are you no fun?” He chuckled again and stood all the way up, his own mug in hand.

“I am plenty of fun.” He said dismissively, but with a playful smirk. “Go on, put it in. A good scare does us good every once in a while.”

“Is that your professional opinion, Doctor?”

“It is.” He checked his watch. “Shall I make us something for lunch?”

**…**

Archie did more than prepare them lunch, he also started a fire in the midcentury fireplace in the corner and did the dishes. It was lite fare, although given their brunch, leftover sandwiches and butternut apple bisque was just right. They ate at the table while Annie Phillips was murdered in the woods. After he refused to let her help him with anything, so she curled up on the love seat to watch Bing Crosby’s son over act as he and the other hapless, horny teens fixed up the facilities. After the third murder Archie finally sat down and stayed seated, taking for himself the chair they had liberated from the guest room. He’d dimmed the lights as she’d asked, turning off the overhead lights and leaving the room to the ambiance of the fire, TV, and floor lamp.

In retrospect turning down the lights was probably a mistake. Beside her she could hear Archie’s breath slow and deepen until his head was tipped all the way back. He was dead asleep. It was the second time that day she had the pleasure of seeing him at his most vulnerable. His face relaxed as it was really emphasized how timeless his features were. He looked anywhere between thirty and his actual mid-forties. Quietly she got up and removed his glasses. Placing them next to his tea she sat back down on the sofa. The gore, however, did not hold her interest like the man sleeping beside her did. He was going to have a terrible kink in his neck if he stayed as he was. Even if the angle did give her a great view of his neck from nice jawline all the way down to the notch of his throat where his shirt was undone.

Carefully she got up again, as Brenda suggested strip monopoly, and approached his side. Gently she laid a hand on his shoulder and shook him slightly.

“Archie.” She tried to be quiet. She tried to be gentle. It didn’t work. Archie woke up like a shot, a yelp falling past his lips as he flailed about in the chair. On his feet he whirled to face her, one hand clutching his chest. She couldn’t help it, Ruby burst out laughing. She laughed and laughed until it hurt to breath and her cheeks ached. She didn’t mean to, but she had no control over it. There was something just so utterly hilarious about this over reaction after he’d taunted her about getting scared by the movie.

“Oh, ho ho! Yes, laugh it up!” He complained. “There’s an increased chance of heart attack at my age, I’ll have you know. I could have died!” His glower wasn’t particularly terrifying even on his best days, but without his glasses he had to squint. Not in a threatening way but in a clearly “I can’t see without them” way. Ruby wiped away her tears and did her best to catch her breath and straighten her face.

“_We can watch that, but don’t come running to me when Jason Voorhees rises out of Spinner’s Pond_.”

“You woke me from a dead sleep, I’m allowed to be a bit startled!” He huffed, hands on his hips and a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Startled. Sure.” He glared at her and she glared right back before they both chuckled again.

“If you’re going to fall asleep during the movie, at least come sit on the sofa, it’s bound to be more comfortable than the chair.”

**…**

Archie had woken from his nap slowly, lazily becoming aware of the world around him through his other senses before opening his eyes. The movie had ended and reverted back to its play screen, the main theme playing on loop, _ki ki ki ma ma ki ki ki ma ma_ whispering softly in his ear. The fire in the fireplace smelled amazing, even if the open concept, two story room was difficult to heat. Not that he was feeling particularly cold. There was a warm weight on his chest, wrapped around him like an affectionate octopus, fitted between his legs (one of which was bent at a 90-degree angle and pressed against the back of the sofa, the other stretched out on the floor). And there was vanilla scented hair in his mouth. His eyes sprang open. Ruby was fast asleep on his chest, curled around him like a body pillow. As he’d slept one hand had wrapped itself around her waist, the other spanning across her hip.

The last thing Archie remembered was sitting beside Ruby on the love seat. He’d not been entirely sure how sitting upright on the love seat was supposed to be more comfortable a place to sleep than sitting in the chair, but Ruby patted the cushion beside her with such authority he didn’t argue. He supposed he had some hazy memories of watching Marcie being hit with an Axe and Brenda deciding that following creepy children’s voices outside was a good idea. Memories of the movie, however, did _not _explain how Ruby had come to be asleep on his chest.

Carefully he spat her hair out, trying not to wake her. She needed rest after their misadventure in getting to the cabin. Also, he feared her reaction if she woke up in his arms. She considered him just a friend and it was unfair to put her in any other situation. No matter his own feelings on the matter. No matter how right this moment felt. This could be his life and what a wonderful one it might be. Rainy afternoon naps on the weekend, watching movies, enjoying a fire in the right weather, cuddling. God, there was nothing better than cuddling. He’d lived so long without any physical affection that the oxytocin flooding his system felt more potent and powerful than any Schedule I drug. Carefully he checked his watch. According to Mickey it was nigh three o’clock. He could see the remote resting on the back of the sofa, however, his attempts to retrieve it without waking the sleeping woman in his arms were for not as he sent the thing plummeting from its perch. The remote landed on the hardwood with a sharp _crack. _

It wasn’t the harsh crash of plastic on wood that brought her out of the dreamy half state she was in. It was the ever so soft whisper of _shit. _Ruby opened her eyes to find that warm, content feeling she was feeling was from Archie’s arms, which were wrapped around her as she’d burrowed into his chest while she napped. She’d remembered tipping him to lay against the arm of the love seat when he’d nodded off the second time. She even vaguely remembered leaning against him when she’d felt sleepy herself. Somehow that had ended up like this. And it felt perfect. Except for the fact he’d now gone completely stiff in the worst possible way. Carefully, regretfully she disentangled herself from his warm, broad chest and sat up. He scrambled to get his legs out of the way, pulling himself back from her until he’d nearly gone backward over the arm of the sofa. His ears were scarlet and without his signature tortoise shell glasses she could see just how wide his blue, blue eyes were.

“S-s-sorry.” He stammered, looking down at his hands like it was his fault.

“Don’t be. I think I started it. Your shoulder was just too convenient a place for a snooze to resist.” She tried to make light of it. He seemed so embarrassed she felt bad now. But it’d been so nice, cuddled up against his strong chest, a warm arm wrapped around her shoulder to hold her near. She could get used to a life like that. Classic horror movies and cuddling were already two of her favorite things, combining them with Archie felt more than natural.

Carefully she stood, hoping not to spook him as he sat like a naughty schoolboy, perched on the end of the love seat. She rounded the sofa to retrieve the remote and then his glasses from the end table. Their fingers brushed as he accepted the spectacles back. She resisted the compulsion to suck a breath in at his touch. She didn’t want to drive him further back into the shell she could see him retreating into. She wanted him to do it again. Ruby knew she was very tactile, it’d played hell on her reputation in high school, but it just felt natural to touch people. She liked it, and she liked to be touched in return.

Every time she touched Archie, he reacted like he’d never been touched before in his life. He never touched anyone either.

“So, what should we do now?” She gently lowered herself onto the love seat opposite him, one leg tucked under her.

“Well, it’s only three and there are like eleven sequels to Friday the 13th if you’re interested.”

“I like the way you think, Doc!” She’d never turn down a movie marathon, especially not with a handsome man and when there was plenty of wine in the house.

“Or,” He said, looking up at one of the skylights, “It’s stopped raining we could go for a walk and leave the house for a bit. Get some fresh air.” Ruby’s eyes shot to the window. He was right, it did look like the rain had stopped, at least for the moment. As committed as she now was to drinking Gold’s house dry and watching all of the Friday the 13thmovies, she also hated being inside all day.

“Ok, new plan. We go for a walk, then we start part two.” She hopped to her feet with a smile.


	13. A Hard-Headed Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter spends a bit of time talking about the 1985 Pogues album, Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash and yet the chapter title is a 1958 Elvis song. Questionable wine opinions expressed. As always I don't own Once Upon a Time or anything associated with the show, or anything else you might recognize. 
> 
> I promise we will eventually check back in with Emma, Bae, Gold, and Belle.

The rain chilled air was a relief and he drank it down gratefully. The cabin was entirely too claustrophobic, despite being mostly open concept. Archie drew in a deep breath, held it, and then released it, hoping it would take with it all the thoughts, all the sensations from the last twenty-four hours or so. It was marginally successful. He could still smell her vanilla shampoo and spicy, floral perfume over the cool petrichor around them.

Spinner’s Wheel was called such because the road was a perfect loop around the pond. An even, paved two-mile circuit, impossible to get lost on. Which was good considering the war his hormones were raging against his rational mind. The street was lined with houses, evenly spaced between them. The illusion that each was alone on the idyllic pond. Their immediate neighbors had a scarlet door on the front of the saltbox style house, making the last of Gold’s directions clear.

Beside him Ruby was unusually quiet, her arm lined through his as they walked together. He hoped more than anything the contemplative silence between them was about the scenery around them and not the second incident on the loveseat. For not being very big the damn thing was causing a lot of trouble. The moment he’d heard that his parents and Gatta had escaped from prison he’d known everything would change. He’d not anticipated _this_ as the monumental shift. There was now something different between him and Ruby, subtle but potent, hovering just out of reach of his perception. He couldn’t name it, but in moments like this – and like the nap before and the grocer before that – he could feel it.

“All that’s missing is Pongo.” Her voice drew him back to living in, rather than analyzing, the moment.

“He would love this.” He agreed. And Pongo would, perhaps not the five-hour car ride but certainly the cabin. Pongo loved playing in water and exploring the woods. Archie had never liked hiking until Pongo practically forced him to take it up.

“We should bring him next time.” He looked at her, close as she was with her arm linked through his, at her height they were almost eye-to-eye.

“Next time?” Ruby met his eyes, her green-gold gaze earnest. A rare expression, they were more want to dance and sparkle and tease than pin him to the spot.

“Next time. The circumstances suck but the scenery and the company more than make up for that.” She licked her lips. Completely of their own accord his eyes dropped to follow the pink tip slide across her full lower lip. That ineffable something was back, ghosting down his spine like a caress. He brought his eyes back to hers and he found it in her gaze as well. He gulped.

“If we brought Pongo, he’d never want to come home.” The moment was shattered by his voice, huskier than usual. He was relieved. Ineffable was intense. Ruby turned away, her cheeks pink. They continued their walk. The silence between them contemplative once more. Archie arrived back at the cabin no calmer than before.

Ruby went straight to the TV when they got back, pulling Friday the 13th Part 2 off the shelf with a cheeky, “You ready for this?” that didn’t quite ring true. He focused on rekindling the fireplace. There was central heating, he could tell, but he had yet to find the thermostat. A fire was lovely, great busy work for him, and compensated for the fact it felt like the heater topped out at 62 degrees. Beside the glass accordion doors that opened onto the back deck and Spinner’s Pond was a built-in nook stacked nearly chest high with firewood and kindling. Archie could appreciate Gold’s priorities, even if he couldn’t make rhyme nor reason of their logic. Once the fire was crackling merrily in the modern fireplace, he chanced a look at Ruby, she was curled up on the loveseat like before, the opening credits playing across the screen. He wasn’t ready to sit down yet. Once he did there would be nothing to distract him from her, nothing to hide behind lest he play on his phone the entire time. Friday the 13th required at most, 20% of his brain’s function. That left so much of his brain to overthink things.

Tea.

Brewing would give him a few more minutes to gather himself and a politer place to hide behind than Angry Birds.

“Would you like a tea?” He retreated to the stove to put the old-fashioned kettle on.

“I had no idea you were such a tea person.” She commented, unfolding herself from her seat to bring over their earlier mugs.

“When I realized I’d never make coffee as well as you I gave up trying. Tea is my pale substitute.” It was a partial truth. Somewhere along the line (probably around 40, when the rest of his body started falling apart) he started getting indigestion if he drank too much coffee. He’d also be up all night if he had any kind of caffeine after about 3pm. Sometimes he felt like he was a bag of Werther’s Originals away from being an old man. Ruby colored slightly at the compliment, the pink really highlighting how lovely and high her cheek bones were.

He brought her a carefully brewed mug of citrus tea a few minutes later, his own mug placed beside the chair. The steaming cup was filled with a herbal, caffeine free “Zen” blend. He needed Zen. 

He found it in the mindless, cheap gore of an early 80s horror film. They let the cheesy horror wash over them in companionable silence.

**…**

Ruby stood as Ginny was loaded into the ambulance, screaming for Paul and cracked her back. The mindless slasher flick had been almost meditative for her. Which she needed after the walk. She had been almost certain Archie was going to kiss her. She’d felt the tell-tale pull in her core as he’d looked at her, standing so close together, arm in arm beside the pond. His eyes had met hers and then flicked down. Classic pre-kiss move. And then he’d started walking again, talking about Pongo!

She knew that some people saw horror everywhere they looked. Ruby’s oldest friend, Mary Margaret, couldn’t watch anything even mildly spooky without seeing it in every dark corner for a month after. Ruby wondered if she had the Romance version of that. Instead of Jason Voorhees around every bend she was seeing desire where there wasn’t any. She must be because Archie kept her well at arm’s length since they returned to no. 6 Spinner’s Wheel. First by constructing a merit badge worthy fire then by plying her with tea like a maiden Auntie from a regency novel, until he finally sat in the chair as far from her as was possible.

_You should have ‘comes on strong’ tattooed across your forehead lass. _Granny had complained to her so many times in her life. She’d always rolled her eyes. _Well now you’ve gone and done it – scared him off._ She thought grimly. She just didn’t know how. She’d been so sure of the signs. It didn’t matter she decided as Crazy Ralph was garroted. Forward was the only option. She had to shake it off and move on like she’d never felt the hypnotic pull of his warm arms and clear, blue eyes.

“Hungry?” She was starving and knew it had to be around dinner time. In his grey armchair Archie started, focusing on her rather than the spot in the middle distance, his eyes drifted to when he was in thought. He looked from her to his watch and back.

“It’s 5:30.” Okay, that was a little early for dinner. It was just that she hadn’t eaten since lunch. Usually she grazed all day. Working at the diner facilitated that habit, there was always an errant fry or broken cookie to be had.

“Not interested in a blue plate special?” He laughed and stood as well, tugging at his sweater absently.

“I’m old, but I’m not _that_ old.” He chuckled. She’d not meant to stare at him, but adjusting his sweater had the unintended consequence of pulling it taught across his broad shoulders and chest. A chest she now knew was sturdy, warm, and a lot stronger than she assumed. He followed her eyes and blushed.

“Ok so I dress like an old man but I’m not ready to eat dinner at 5:30 even if I look like it.” She’d managed to hit a nerve by checking him out. Ruby shook her head.

“Sorry, I zoned out there for a second. That’s not what I wanted to imply.” Something flitted across his eyes.

“Oh.” He turned toward the kitchen, gathering up his mug, “We picked up some cheese and crackers. You must be starving if you’re zoning out on me.” Ruby smiled at his gentle attempt at humor and followed him. She knew the brown butter sauce she wanted to make would take about three minutes, the savory bread crumb topping maybe five. She just needed to know how long the ravioli needed and she could start planning her timeline for dinner.

Her eyes fell on Gold’s wine rack. It was 5:30 on a Friday after all.

“I’ll only need half the figs and prosciutto for dinner tonight,” she said, pursuing the labels available: a Malbec, Barbera, and a Bordeaux blend with a sketch of a château on the label. “What would you say to a compromise and we have a spot of charcuterie and open a bottle of wine?” She took the Barbera from the rack. Charlotte-Rose’s girlfriend, Eugénie Flynn was studying to be a Sommelier (she and Tiana were going to open a fine dining restaurant one day) had taught Ruby everything she knew about wine. Génie would undoubtably be able to look at the bottles and have strong opinions about the vineyard and vintage and would be able to say which would complement dinner best. Ruby, however, was not a sommelier and could only remember Génie saying that Barberas were nice, medium red wines. She figured medium was good enough. Right in the middle should go with anything, right? Although, what did she know? She drank Franzia until Génie made her switch to Black Box wine if she ever wanted to host girl’s night again.

“I shudder to think how expensive replacing Gold’s wine would be.” Good ole practical Archie. Too bad the siren of wine was calling her – she _would_ answer.

“I’ll have Génie make me a list of affordable equivalents.” She was after all, an oenophile on a bartender’s budget. He didn’t even have to ask _are you sure?_ his expression did it for him. She walked to the drawer she saw the corkscrew (and not much else) in and then handed him the bottle and its opener.

“Yes, I’m sure.” She told him before moving to the fridge to see what she could do for an appetizer. At the store they had primarily focused on supplies for breakfast and easy lunches – bread, cereal, eggs but blessedly they had given a few thoughts to snacks. A box of grissini, some Edam and Manchego cheese, prosciutto, figs, an apple, some balsamic and olive oil and pumpkin seeds. _Perfect_.

The sound of cork clearing a bottle was music to her ears as she pawed through the near empty cabinets to find the large wooden cutting board she remembered seeing.

“Shall I put _Part III_ in?” Arche asked as he poured them two generous glasses of wine. He was going about this movie marathon like he was killing snakes, a bold move for a man she’d gotten to scream by tapping on the shoulder.

“Maybe after dinner? I don’t want you to have nightmares.”

“Very considerate of you,” he sassed, taking his wine glass and wandering over to the media center. “Music then?” It was clear he didn’t want to have true silence between them any more than she did. Usually their silences were companionable and comforting. Lately they had become confused and confusing.

“Good idea.” Ruby sipped her wine and felt herself smile. It might not be a perfect match for dinner but it was tasty so who cared? She put the assembled snacks on the cutting board as Archie rattled off the various album options.

“Any preference?” there was nothing jazz or new wave or anything else that jumped out at her that Archie might enjoy. Without taking him into account she knew which album was her favorite.

“Which Pogues albums does he have?” The charcuterie board assembled she popped a piece of fig in her mouth.

“All of them, I think – _Peace and Love, Hell’s Ditch, If I Should Fall from Grace with God_-”

“_Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash_?” It was probably the best of their albums, even if it didn’t have either of her favorite songs – “Fiesta” and “Lorelei”. Archie chocked on his wine, the poor guy.

“Yeah.” He wheezed.

“Let’s do that one then. It’s their best album as well as an ideal night.”

“Ruby!” She laughed at how exacerbated he sounded, his ears clashing with his hair.

“You’re right, I don’t even like rum.” She could hear him roll his eyes, but he also pulled the album and made quick work of the player and soon _the Sickbed of Cúchulainn_ was playing through the open space. It was too polite a volume for the Pogues but that was the price of conversation.

Archie wandered back to her side as she stood over the charcuterie board, inhaling the crispy breadsticks like they could fill a void in her soul.

“Holy- wow!” It was a sincere praise; his jaw was hanging slack as he looked at the assemblage.

“You were with me when we bought all this, it’s just displayed differently.”

“No, this is amazing. Honestly Ruby,” He looked up at her, his eyes bright. “It’s like something out of a cooking magazine.” Ruby had chaffed living with her grandmother, stuck in Storybrooke, working at the diner since she was old enough to legally do so, cleaning bedrooms at the B&B for her allowance when she was too young to work at the diner. She had hated all the trappings of that life and raged at all things domestic for so long. It was of course the great irony of her life that she was actually extremely good at all those things. She was Martha Fucking Stewart. Cooking came easily to her, plating and table setting were innate. She was the hostess with the mostess, but she’d only recently fully embraced this side of herself. There weren’t many things Ruby knew she could point to and say with absolute, unwavering certainty “I am good at that” but assembling a charcuterie board was one of them.

There was no coffee table to take the board to and have more a more comfortable place to eat, and while the dining table was ready and waiting, it seemed a bit much to sit at the table to eat mini Baybel cheeses she had cut into more bite sized pieces. So, they stayed at the kitchen island, snacking and drinking their wine. And then of course there was a small problem Ruby had forgotten about herself.

If she knew the words she sang along. Always. No matter what. And sometimes she danced. And sometimes she did both. It was a habit born from the fact she had a brilliant memory for song lyrics and loved music. The only downside was she had a terrible voice.

“_Oh my name is Jock Stewart I'm a canny gun man/ And a roving young fellow I've been/ So be easy and free when you're drinking with me/ I'm a man you don't meet every day_.” She’d not realized she was singing along with Cait O’Riordan or swaying along in ¾ time until she caught Archie’s queer expression.

“Sorry.” She could feel herself blushing. In high school her friends had always told her to leave the singing to the people who could. So, she tried to keep her concerts confined to cleaning after closing at the diner or the shower, times she knew there would be few to no witnesses. She’d clearly gotten too comfortable and forgotten.

“Don’t…Don’t apologize. You sound nice.” Ruby stuffed a chunk of Manchego in her mouth to keep from correcting him. She knew she didn’t. “I didn’t know you waltzed.” She chocked on her cheese.

“What?” She coughed. “What are you talking about?” He nodded to her feet.

“You mean you didn’t know you were doing a solo box step?”

“Nope.” She wasn’t even sure she was swaying in time to be completely honest. “I don’t know how to waltz.”

“Could have fooled me.” He sat his wine down.

“And you know how to waltz?” Was there anything he didn’t know how to do? Beer pong champion…Jazz clarinetist and violin player…Ballroom dancer apparently.

“I got roped into learning social dance with a friend of mine in grad school. I wasn’t very good; the Waltz is about the only thing I remember.” He chuckled at the memory and extended his hand. For a moment Ruby could only look at it: large, strong, and inviting. That familiar pull in her core was back and it drew her like a hook toward him. She sat her own wine down and took his hand. He pulled her close, his right hand wrapping around her waist until his palm was on the small of her back. He placed her left hand on his right shoulder before clasping their other hands.

“You’re going to step back with your right foot on one, then to the side with your left foot on two, and close right foot to left foot on three. Then you repeat that starting with stepping forward with your left foot.” It was hard to follow his simple directions standing so close to him. She’d never been this close to him before in her life. There was always something – usually a diner table – in their way. She could smell his woodsy aftershave and clean laundry and soft, subtle scent of man that was undoubtably just him naturally. He was warm and distractingly solid under her fingers, and given their slight height difference her view was of his full lower lip, slightly stained by the wine.

Out of self-preservation she dropped her gaze to their feet. She was sock footed; he was wearing his slippers again. They had to be something to have survived running down the street and driving a few hours. With neither of them wearing proper shoes he was a whole three inches taller than she. In her regular shoes they were closer to the same height or in some cases she was taller by an inch or two (which was always fun)…

“Don’t look at your feet, it’ll make it harder. Look at me.” His raspy voice was softer than usual, it pulled her gaze from the floor until she met his eyes. They were as inscrutable as they were beautiful. “One…two…three…” He stepped forward, she stepped back. And with that they were dancing.

_So come fill up you glasses of brandy and wine  
Whatever it costs, I will pay  
So be easy and free when you're drinking with me  
I'm a man you don't meet every day_

Archie Hopper was a damn liar. ‘I wasn’t very good’ her left foot! He led her effortlessly around the kitchen island and out into the open dining space of the room, they were gliding across the floor in their socks and slippers. His hand, warm on her back, very subtly pushed or pulled her where he intended to go next and the gentle nod of his head always kept her on beat. He’d even managed to make her spin before drawing her back into his arms and continuing them around the room. The entire time his eyes never left hers. The world melted away except for those blue eyes and the warm pull that drew her like a magnet to him.

Somehow her arm slid further around him, until her head was resting against his shoulder. His arm had relaxed from the small of her back and was now wrapped loosely around her waist and their steps had faded from the very proper box step to more of what she was familiar with, step back, side to side, step forward side to side. More swaying than dancing really. Her eyes drifted closed and for a moment she just let herself enjoy.

The feel of lips on the crown of her head didn’t jolt her so much as the harsh transition to _Sally MacLennane_ did with its drum like gunfire and accordion loop. The cause wasn’t as important as the result, however.

“Ow, _shit_.”

…

Ruby’s head drilled into his nose and in that moment Jiminy Martin Grillo Archibald Hopper knew that karma was a bitch. Their waltz had long sense deteriorated to high schoolers at prom style slow dancing (not that he’d ever been to a prom, but he’d seen movies). Not that he’d complain. He’d not known what he was thinking when he offered to show her a waltz in the kitchen, but as she curled into his chest as their steps grew smaller and less precise, he realized that his heart was taking no prisoners in its war with his head. Shane MacGowan’s gravelly voice soon replaced the woman singing the ballad, but rather than step away Ruby had only pulled herself closer into his embrace. Perfect. She fit against him so easily, like she was meant to be there. He didn’t believe in soulmates, at least not in the Platonic sense. Although he’d love to have the strength to punch a God in the face, he didn’t believe that he was incomplete. He was a whole person on his own. As was Ruby. But with her in his arms he felt like salt on caramel. He was complete on his own but with her he was himself, but more. He had let that feeling run away with him. Run right over the fact that she was one of his friends, not his lover, not his wife. Dropping first his nose to the crown of her head, and then his lips had been too much.

And he was immediately chastised for it. His eyes watering, he stepped away from Ruby, hand immediately going to his face to find out if his nose was actually broken or bleeding or if it just felt like it was.

“Oh my God, Archie! I am so _sorry_.” The dream that had settled over them was broken and she was firmly pulling his hands away from his face to look at him.

“Damnit, let me see.” She growled at him as he tried to hold his hand more firmly to his face. It served him right for getting fresh. But he didn’t need her to see him crying, bright red, with blood, snot or both running out of his nose. He didn’t have pride anymore, but damnit he still had his vanity.

“I’m fine, Ruby, just give me… a minute.”

“I might have broken your nose, let me help!” Oh, he could think of several things he wanted to say in retort. But they were all impolite and coming from a place of stinging eyes and a very sore nose. But he bit them back and with as much poise as he possessed, he lowered his hands. Ruby was standing very close to him once again, and for once he didn’t want to kiss her. It was a testament to just how much his nose hurt. Ruby’s hands flitted around his face, poking and pinching.

“Uff, Ruby, please.” He didn’t think his nose was broken, but the way she kept poking at it he couldn’t say for certain.

“I don’t think it’s broken, but you keep crying so I don’t know.” She sounded half concerned, half frustrated, and a little bit like she was laughing at him.

“I’ll stop crying when you stop touching it.” He could still breath fine, he couldn’t feel any blood on his face, carefully he wiggled his nose. It hurt, but otherwise felt fine, nothing broken.

“I am _so_ sorry.”

“My fault.” He tried waving away her concern. Ruby’s face shifted from concern to amusement and she put her hands on her hip.

“How the _hell_ is it your fault? It was my hard head.”

“I put my nose where it didn’t belong, clearly.”

“You know what they’ve said about hard-headed women, don’t you?” She retreated to the kitchen and returned a minute later with their wine.

“What do they say about a hard-headed woman?” He didn’t know if more wine was what he needed but it made his nose feel better in the way that all wine cured the aches of the day.

“Ever since the world began, a hard-headed woman been a thorn in the side of man.”


	14. Meanwhile, back at the farm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally check back in with Belle and Gold, Bae and Emma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: It’d be a fairytale reality indeed if I owned Once Upon a Time or anything associated with the show. The plot of this piece was inspired by the 2004 romance novel, The Nerd Who Loved Me by Vicki Lewis Thompson. No infringement or offense intended.
> 
> Notes: No, I’ve not forgotten that I also tagged this story Rumbelle and Swanfire. Also, Michael Gatta swears like a sailor and drinks like a fish, so if this were on basic cable more or less anything from his point of view would be censored.

_Thursday Evening_

“You did WHAT?!” He shoulda known not to expect sympathy from either Martin or Myrna but Jesus Christ did she have to yell? Jiminy had already thrown a fucking coffee pot at him. His face was seriously fucked. And then the piece of shit had knocked him out. He’d woken up some time later. Michael didn’t need to be no college boy pussy like Jiminy to know that losing consciousness wasn’t great. He had memory problems enough as it was. His ex-wife used to say it was because he was a drunk, but she was a dumb bitch anyway so what did she know?

“Why are you surprised, my Dear. We left him unsupervised with the first whiskey he’s had in ages. We should have known he’d behave like an ape.” Martin could be so fucking judgmental for the man who literally gave him the Jim Beam because he wanted to fuck his wife. He was left “unsupervised” because he was too busy getting his rocks off. Asshole. They didn’t understand, they weren’t there. They hadn’t seen Jiminy. How fucking happy he looked. He’d sold his parents out, sold his badass adopted uncle out (i.e. him) and he’d swanned away scot-fucking-free. Then, because Karma never worked like it was supposed to, he went on to literally get everything fucking handed to him. He had a goddmann suburban wet dream of a fuckin’ life. Little house, a dog, a hot woman. All that was missing were 2.5 brats. Ginger brats. When he finally got his hands on Jiminy, he’d personally make sure the man would _never_ have children. 

“You don’t understand, man,” Michael all but growled, “You didn’t see what I saw. Jiminy’s happy. The shit sold us out and is living his fuckin’ ‘best life’. He has a chick.”

“Jiminy?! Get a woman?!” Myrna cackled. “I don’t believe you! He was never handsome nor interesting enough for that.”

“He was never interested in girls.”

“I’m telling you; he is definitely fucking this chick and she is smokin’ hot.” Michael slammed his hand down on the cheap nightstand of their shitty hotel room and immediately regretted it. His hands were raw and sore from the number he’d done on Jiminy’s house once he’d woken up to find the prick and the chick gone. Putting his hand through the stupid mirror over his fuckin’ fireplace (that ginger prick had a goddamn fireplace in his house, how un-fucking-fair was that?!) had done a particularly gruesome number on his knuckles.

“Oh really,” Myrna was clearly unconvinced. “And what did this chick look like?”

“Hot. Tall, skinny, perky tits, long black hair, poured into a pair of bright red pants. They were standing in his fucking kitchen, laughing, smiling, _canoodling_.” He spat.

“There is no way that the sorry excuse of a man the Doctors _claimed_ was our son could get as fine a piece of as you’re describing.” Martin was incredulous. “But if – IF – you’re right then we’ve found his weakness. More than his own life, you know he’ll do _anything_ to protect someone else.” Jiminy was such a fucking goody goody.

“But how do we find her? He’s run off because you got shithammered and offended by a little _canoodling_ and ran in guns blazing and NO FUCKING PLAN!” Martin slapped the back of his head. It made his eyes cross. The only worse pain than his face was the back of his head. “YOU FUCKING IDIOT!”

“Hey. Hey!” Myrna slammed her hand down on the table beside his, sending a bolt of pain through each of his fingers – his entire goddamn arm, and straight down to his fucking balls. “Let’s not get distracted by just how much Michael ruined everything. We need to focus on what we’re going to do _now_.”

They were on the lam. They’d killed a guy for his car and as much as they could get on his card as they could. The plan, such as it was, was simple – get out, get Jiminy, get as far as fuck away from there as possible. Get money. Get new names. Get on with living.

In retrospect it was a stupid plan, overly simple. But who the hell would have imagined Jiminy showing any backbone?

**…**

_Thursday Night_

After Emma’s emergency meeting at the Sheriff’s office and the launch of operation GTFO (of town) Gold’s date night with Belle was well and truly ruined. Even he had to admit the mood was lost after that series of events. Which was a shame because before things went _gang aft agley_ he had laid the best plans.[1]

Miss French had been a breath of fresh air, blowing into town one day and reopening the library which had been closed for the last ten years after the death of the wizened Mrs. Pince. Rafe Gold had not realized how desperately he missed fresh reading material until the doors on the library under the clock tower opened again. Oh, he had bought books, made a pilgrimage to the Barnes and Noble in Augusta every few months to wander around and find something new. The problem was, when buying a book, if he didn’t like it, he was then stuck with the book. Sure, he’d tried passing along some of his misses to other people (he could never bring himself to throw out a book) but in the end he’d wound up with an entire bookcase of books he read and didn’t like, or in a few instances started reading and couldn’t finish.

He’d first met Miss French through a newspaper ad soliciting donations of books (new or gently used) to help update and replace the old library’s inventory. The second time he’d met Miss French they’d fallen in love. He fell for her beauty, her wit, her intelligence, and the way her blue eyes sparkled as she laughed. She fell for his enormous rolling suitcase bursting full of books. Their relationship had progressed slowly, tentatively over the checkout counter every Thursday. And then to tea in his shop after she perused his collection of old novels to add to her personal library. Until it reached dinner out and now finally, finally dinner at his place. Belle, as he now delighted in calling her, had even brought a suspiciously large purse. He’d bought duck breast for dinner, dates for the sticky toffee pudding for dessert, and a twelve pack of Trojans for afters (he’d hoped that amongst all the food, ingredients, and household supplies he’d picked up the condoms would go unnoticed but alas, Melody Trident had looked him dead in the eye as she scanned them and the bloody sixteen year old had _known_).

He followed Belle into his mud room, his vintage Cadillac cooling down behind them in the garage. When Bae had called him in the middle of some good Bourbon (Woodford Reserve Double Oaked) and some even better kisses adrenaline had flooded his system, as it would any father’s when they heard their son say the word ‘crisis’. He’d sprinted to his car as fast as his dodgy ankle would carry him, Belle following along bewildered. Now that the crisis was adverted and the shrink and the She-wolf were on their way to Avonlea all the adrenaline had left his system, leaving him drained and tired.

“Belle, love, I am sorry about the turn our evening has taken.” And he was. It wasn’t even midnight yet and he felt as if he’d been up for a day and a half.

“I’m not,” She said quietly, standing now in his dim kitchen, lit only by the light streaming in through the open blinds. “I wanted to spend time with you this evening, and we have.” He wasn’t a tall man, but she still had to look up at him to meet his gaze.

“You can tell me I’m mistaken, but I believe we both had different expectations for how this night should play out.” He took her small hand with a rueful smile. She squeezed his fingers, a smile of her own playing across full, rose colored lips.

“Well, I had hoped on getting a tour of your house. But I never had any firm circumstances in mind for how that should occur.” He thought he understood what she was saying, but he wanted to be clear. He was not going to lose what he had just found to miscommunication. But, as he opened his mouth to speak, a yawn fell out instead. Belle caught it, yawning as well.

“I agree.” She said. “Let’s go to bed, I’m too tired to go home, and conveniently I brought my toothbrush.” Her smile was more contagious than a yawn.

“Convenient indeed as I have a variety of guestrooms for you to choose from if you spend tonight.” He wouldn’t assume, but he would certainly hope that she’d give the three guest beds a pass and join him in his hitherto lonely king suite. She accepted his arm with a giggle, only abandoning him briefly to retrieve her wine-colored satchel.

Lying in bed, their legs intertwined and foreheads touching Rafe knew he’d never be able to sleep as well without her again. Knowing what she was like in this unguarded, intimate moment… he would pay whatever price to have this every night. She traced a winding, absentminded tattoo over his shirt clad chest as they spoke in quiet tones about their evening.

“How was Archie’s house?” His own hand drifted up and down her arm. He didn’t wear pajamas to bed, and thus had no comfortable button up top to give her like something from a Rock Hudson and Doris Day film. Instead, the best he could offer was a faded Rangers F.C. shirt. Not that he would complain, it was slightly too big on her, but not big enough to be a night gown. Her arms and her heavenly legs were bare beneath his fingers.

“A proper mess, glass everywhere, the curtains were torn down, chairs up ended, they had thrown most of the books on his shelves all over the room before they left.” He could feel her wince at that, his beloved bookworm. But it had been a painful sight, and so clearly destruction for the sake of destruction.

“The poor man, to have your own parents want to kill you.” She said quietly. He made a quiet grunt of agreement. It was too bad, and utterly surprising. Rafe had met Dr. Hopper ten years ago when he’d first signed the lease on the second-floor suite for his psychology practice. He’d been polite and business-like, yielding but not utterly without backbone. Kind. The most lasting impression he had left from that meeting was that he was fundamentally kind. In the ten years since that first meeting Hopper had never done anything to change that first impression. To find out he had a secret life as a thief with a criminal family… it boggled the mind. He had not been exaggerating, Rafe supposed, when he’d promised Bae and him that their strife was not the most dysfunctional family dynamic he’d ever encountered in his life.

“Did you feel safe in the house?” Belle continued, “Do you think they’re still watching it?” He had felt far safer in the house than poor Archie must have, although Graham had cleared away the debris of the struggle, the smashed door just barely clinging to its hinges told a harrowing story all on its own. But given the state of the place and the story the Lucas girl told about smashing the intruder in the head with a frying pan Rafe had not been concerned about his own safety, nor had he felt watched.

“The house was a mess but felt perfectly safe. Graham patrolled the general area before returning, the Grillos and Gatta would have to be particularly stupid criminals to stick close to the house with the police showing up.” Rafe didn’t think Archie’s parents (he could not bring himself to refer to Hopper as Jiminy Grillo, it was an atrocious name), were particularly intelligent, certainly that associate of theirs was a fucking fool, but he wouldn’t assume that level of stupidity without proof. To do so would put everyone at risk.

“And how was packing for Archie?” He couldn’t see her eyes, but he knew they were sparkling, he could hear it in the lit of her voice. She had transitioned from worried to teasing.

“Oh, a delight,” He said dryly, “We were up to our elbows in his underwear drawer…”

“Was it like touching the Shroud of Turin?” Belle snickered.

“What?”

“It’s a line from _Sabrina_, don’t worry about it.” He harrumphed. What the teenage witch was doing with men’s underwear he had no idea. Packing for Archie hadn’t been that bad. The man was organized, his clothes all clean and easy to find. His fashion sense was consistent enough that nearly any item of clothing would go easily with any other item of clothing, making it easy to mix and match a couple of shirts, sweaters, jeans, and a blazer. Additionally, his personal hygiene routine was straight forward and fuss free. Rafe had just pretended he was packing a toiletries kit for himself and all the items were accounted for, no leftover lotions or potions which he didn’t understand. He’d not spent any time imagining what sorts of pants other men wore, but he had been slightly surprised to find a drawer full of boxers and trunks. 

“Do you know what Emma and I packed Ruby in addition to her usual toiletries?” Belle’s tone was delightfully mischievous, almost impish.

“Pray tell.” The waitress’ style, unlike the psychologist’s was by far more dynamic and probably required actually thinking through outfits and if items would or would not go together. Rafe shuddered to think of what toiletries the woman required. He’d never learned the mysteries of women’s products, not even while he was married, they might have smelled good, but they all looked the same to him.

“Condoms.” She said with an evil cackle. “Emma and I are tired of watching them dance around each other. Hopefully this weekend in seclusion will help them sort out the obvious.” He felt a laugh brewing deep in his chest, great minds and all that.

Bae had turned the good doctor’s bedroom and bathroom upside down as they packed looking for condoms to include in the bag. _It’s the perfect excuse for a dirty weekend._ He’d insisted. When Rafe had suggested that maybe Archie wasn’t interested in a dirty weekend Bae had literally stopped in the middle of packing the doctor’s jeans and stared at him. _Papa_, Bae had said with a heavy sigh, _do you actually observe the world around you? Or do you just see blindly through everything? Archie Hopper looks at Ruby like she hung the moon and all the heavenly virtues are derived from her eyes. She’s bewitched him, body and soul. Papa pay attention and it’d be more than obvious that Archie loves Ruby most ardently. _After his speech Bae had simply returned to packing the man’s trousers mumbling how he couldn’t believe Hopper didn’t have any condoms in the house.

Bae had been elated when he’d told him that he had some condoms he’d donate to the cause. And then utterly horrified when he realized why…

**…**

_Friday Morning_

“Have you heard from Ruby yet?” Nancy Lucas was not messing around as she withheld Emma’s coffee the next morning with a stern, and beseeching expression. Emma couldn’t blame her for her concern, it was after all her only grandchild that was sent away in the dead of night after inadvertently becoming mixed up in a revenge plot against the town psychologist. On the other hand, said revenge plot and the incident report it prompted and the plans to recapture the escaped murders had kept Emma in the office well into the night. It was now 8:15 in the morning and she was heading back into the office. She needed the magic bean juice to make her go.

“No, Mrs. Lucas, I have not.” Emma sighed. The older woman’s face fell.

“She hasn’t checked in since they stopped for gas and that was just after midnight. What if something happened?” Emma cast a quick, seemingly casual eye around the diner. The tables and booths were full of breakfasting regulars. She knew every single patron. There were many reasons not to broadcast around town that Archie and Ruby were on an impromptu vacation together, but fear of the Grillos or Gatta learning their whereabouts was not one of them. She ran a hand through her hair and leaned into the conversation.

“You can’t think like that, you’ll get yourself worked up for nothing.” Ruby was always worrying about her grandmother’s heart since the woman had a heart attack a few years ago. But as far as Emma could tell Nancy Lucas was the most likely person to survive the apocalypse after Keith Richards and cockroaches. She’d gotten herself some meds and was strong as an ox now. But even steely stubbornness was no match for the corrosive force of anxiety.

“Nothing! People might be looking to harm my granddaughter! That’s not _nothing_.” Emma sighed and looked longingly at the to-go cup currently being held hostage. This would be easier with more caffeine. She’d poured one cup into herself along with a bagel this morning, but considering she was running on maybe five hours of sleep, one cup of Bae’s questionable coffee making was not enough for her to words and sentence properly. 

“No, it’s not. What I mean is, Gold’s place where they’re staying is in the middle of the Catskills. They would have gotten in very early this morning at best considering it’s a five-hour drive from here. There’s apparently no cell signal at the cabin. To check in they’d have to go into town or something. They’re bound to be more tired than I am after all that driving and drama.” She gave her coffee a pointed look. Granny was not having any of that, her blue eyes fixed firmly on Emma’s. “Assume Ruby is still asleep and will check in after she’s awake and has figured out where she can get some bars. If you haven’t heard from her by noon, then you can start to worry.” Her words made so much sense, Emma believed them in her logical brain, however the rest of her still worried. She wouldn’t admit that to Granny, she’d certainly not admit to the six texts she’d sent to both Ruby and Archie over the course of the night demanding updates. Ruby had responded to two of them, Archie only one, damn them both.

“You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right.” Finally, _finally_ Granny handed over the coffee and shook herself out of her panic. “Worrying’s my job though, that’s my little girl out there. And Archie, dear man. He doesn’t deserve any of this.” Emma had to agree as she handed over her payment to Granny before falling on her coffee like it was her salvation. Archie seemed absolutely convinced he’d sinned alongside his parents and deserved retribution. For an intelligent man, he was an absolute idiot when it came to himself. It was almost enough to make her doubt his qualifications as a therapist. Any rational person worth their salt should realize that things a parent forces a child to do shouldn’t be held against that child. Coercion and manipulation were hard enough to identify and escape as an adult, let alone a child who was entirely dependent on the people controlling him. But then, showing compassion to oneself was always harder than showing it to others, Emma was well aware of that.

“Although perhaps some good can come of all this?” Granny was in a musing mood it seemed, and with a lull in to-go customers and a full, efficient staff of waitresses looking after those eating-in she had time to indulge. She also had a captive audience as she held Emma’s change just slightly out of reach as she pontificated. (Emma contemplated just leaving the remainder and heading to the office, but she’d given the woman the last of her cash – a $20, that was more change than she could justify abandoning).

“How so?” Emma was forced to play along.

“Ruby needs to wake up and smell the coffee, or in this case, realize that she’s had a crush on Dr. Hopper so long that it has to be love.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. She’s got a sixth sense for that man, any time he’s near she can’t keep her eyes off him. Won’t let anyone else wait on him either, always jealous of any time she can get with him. And the sighing, good lord…”

Emma could see it, now that she’d stopped to put together the evidence. Archie was perhaps the only man Ruby didn’t flirt with. Instead she actually talked. Emma hadn’t witnessed Ruby have a proper conversation with any man, other than Archie, she always held them at arm’s length. She was pleasant to be sure, friendly, flirty but always a little too Ruby(TM) to be real. And then of course there was Archie who always returned her attentions in his own understated way. He would never be so crass as to blatantly check her out, but the way his eyes followed her Emma knew he was a leg man.

“Do you think they’ll sort themselves out?” She was genuinely curious. She certainly hoped so, she and Belle had sent Ruby off with six condoms hoping so, but wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’, plannin’ and dreamin’ was not actually going to get Ruby into her man’s arms. More’s the pity.

“I hope so,” Granny said with an emphatic sigh. “But Ruby never did have much sense when it came to men. She could throw herself at the worst of ‘em, alright, but she finally finds a decent one and she convinces herself they’ll only ever be friends.” Granny eventually realized she’d been holding Emma’s change hostage and handed it over. “And Doc Hopper isn’t going to be any help. He’s a good man, too good of a man to make the first move unfortunately.” Granny sounded both delighted and disgusted by this fact. Emma could relate.

“Well, as you said, perhaps a weekend away,” With a half dozen condoms and nice panties, “will help them get their priorities straight.”

* * *

[1] “To a Mouse” by Robert Burns (1785) is where John Steinbeck got the title ‘Of Mice and Men’. In English the famous line is, of course, “The best-laid plans of mice and men/ go oft awry”. In the original Scots, however, the line reads “The best laid schemes o' mice an' men / Gang aft agley”, which I think sounds way cooler.


	15. Counting Sheep

Archie scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair before resolutely closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath through his nose for four…three…two…one… he held it in his chest for seven…six…five…four…three…two…one… and exhaled it for eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…one… and he repeated that. Over. And over. And over again. He both taught meditation in his practice and used it himself, particularly on nights when his thoughts were too loud to sleep. The problem with just _being_ in the moment was that at this moment he could smell her on his pillow, on the sheets, all over the bed around him. It was both like she was in bed with him, and infinitely lonelier than if the sheets hadn’t smelled of anything at all.

Since she’d managed to clock him one as they danced, he’d kept at a distance. She’d not needed him as a sous chef, despite his offer but he’d stayed in the kitchen anyway as she worked her culinary magic, humming along to the Lou Reed album he decided on after the Pogues, as she whipped up butternut goat cheese ravioli in a brown butter sauce with herbed breadcrumbs and figs. He clung to the edge of the kitchen island and picked at the appetizer board, neither wanting to be in the way, nor abandon her. She’d done the same after dinner, when he insisted on doing the washing up, sitting on the counter, her legs swinging as she topped up their wine glasses slightly too full. He’d worried that conversation would be awkward, but he should have known that it was nigh impossible for Ruby to have an awkward conversation. She was too interesting for that. It was easy to forget his previous transgression as she laughed warmly and teased him gently.

They had agreed to go explore Olana as Katie had suggested. He’d followed through on Eve-Ellen’s orders to call Remy while she was in the bathroom. The hostess who answered the phone had not been impressed with him until he mentioned Eve-Ellen, and then it was all _Yes, Mr. Hopper, absolutely, sir_. Ruby hadn’t said that she wanted to go to _Oiseau Bleu_ in so many words, but she’d made a very compelling case that they should treat their weekend as a vacation instead of an exile. They’d looked up the restaurant, both sitting on their phones at the dinner table, discussing their plans for the day. Ruby had fallen in love with the majestic views from the dining room and the promise of fresh farm-to-table American/French fusion food. He’d chocked slightly looking at the prices for a multicourse dinner with wine, but Ruby deserved it. She so rarely got to take a vacation, a proper vacation, and he could certainly afford it. Other than his addiction to Granny’s coffee and the occasional dinner out, cocktails after jazz gigs he saved his money. He didn’t take vacations; he didn’t go shopping. He had plenty to do this for her. Provided she let him.

Watching _Friday the Thirteenth Part III_ had been particularly ghoulish (as well as campy as hell) since Ruby insisted on turning all the lights off as they watched it. With the sunsetting around them it was soon pitch black in the cabin, aside from the shades and colors thrown by Jason in his iconic hockey mask and all that fake blood. It was as dark as any movie theatre, darker even considering the TV was small, even by home entertainment standards. It allowed him ample opportunity to watch her watch the movie, admire the striking angles of her face, see her laugh or groan at the terrible decisions made by the protagonists. She sipped her wine and nibbled on the last of the grissini and figs and he felt that familiar ineffable madness upon him.

And then it was time for bed.

Ruby had practically frog matched him to the bedroom door, reminding him in no uncertain terms of his agreement that they would alternate sleeping on the sofa. They had prepared for bed separately and mostly in silence. A gentle "good night" said at the threshold of the bedroom door. She slept on the left side of the bed, he realized as he stood at its foot, frozen for several long moments. Or at least the pillow on the bed was still on the left side, its mate what she had given him the night before to sleep on the sofa with. Intellectually he knew it didn’t mean anything, there was a 50/50 chance she’d sleep on that side of the bed, if she didn’t actually just sleep in the middle. That was the logical side of his brain thinking. Literally the rest of him was focused on the fact he preferred the right side of the bed. It would be so easy for him to just suggest they share the bed. Their sides fit perfectly together.

In for four…three…two…one… and hold… It wasn’t working. Archie opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. He was dead tired and yet more awake than he’d felt all day. There was no way he was going to get any sleep, not in a bed that smelled like her.

**…**

The pillow smelled like him, damnit. She’d know that aftershave anywhere, and she knew no one else that wore its particular scent. So, there was no other association she could try and use to overcome the fact her bed smelled like Archie. She had a very keen sense of smell, which was normally a boon but was now slowly driving her insane. She should have insisted on keeping her pillow. She should have predicted something like this happening, but she hadn’t and now she was paying the price. And the price was how easily her imagination was weaving scenarios in which instead of a hypoallergenic puff under her head, it was his chest she was snuggled up to. With the sheets and quilt wrapped tightly around her shoulder it was so easy to fall into fantasy. Her head pillowed on his strong chest, ear over his heart, being lulled to sleep by its steady lub-dub, one of his arms wrapped around her shoulder, keeping her near, keeping her warm. She’d lived this fantasy earlier, during her nap. She now knew exactly how warm that broad chest was. What had been so comfortable this afternoon was now keeping her wide awake.

It was a glimpse into the life she wanted.

She’d lived it for a day and there was no going back. Ruby sat up and grabbed her phone, she wasn’t going to fall asleep any time soon, no matter how tired she felt.

_Belle_

_How’s it going? x_

Belle had texted as Archie had waltzed her around the kitchen.

_Emma_

_I assume radio silence means you’ve put the condoms to good use._

Emma had followed up at some point during the movie. Ruby assumed she was joking, although it was hard to tell via SMS. They certainly seemed convinced that Archie would be willing to use at least some of the protection they’d sent her. It didn’t help her keep her crush in check, not in the slightest. Ruby sighed.

_Ruby_

_No, we were watching Friday the 13th._

_Hats off to your BF Belle, I’ve never met anyone who owns every movie in the franchise._

_Belle_

_Oh God, what is *wrong* with him?! _

_Are those literally the only movies in a secluded cabin in the woods? x_

_Ruby_

_Nah, he’s also got the complete series of Hamish Macbeth. _

_Emma_

_I’m going to side with Gold on this one, horror movies in a secluded cabin is A+ dark humor._

Ruby had to agree. If she was as stupid rich as Gold was and could just have multiple properties all over the place furnished to her specific requirements, she’d curate the entertainment too. Creating a home was more than just hanging some curtains (although she might have actually gotten around to the curtains first, before picking out a very specific set of films and music to leave in the house). Camp horror films was the perfect accessory for any sort of home in the woods. Just like if she had a ski chalet, she’d leave the entire catalogue of James Bond movies there. And if she had a houseboat or a yacht it’d just be a DVD of _Mamma Mia!_ Setting the right mood was important.

_Ruby_

_Agreed. _

_It rained all afternoon here, really added to the ambiance._

_Emma_

_And while you’re sitting in a secluded cabin, in the rain, watching horror movies he didn’t make a move?_

_Ruby_

_NO_

_Belle_

_Did you? x_

_Ruby_

_No, he just sees me as a friend. He’s not interested._

_Belle_

_Hoe do you know this? Has he said something? x _

_How*_

_Emma_

_Do you need me to beat him up? I’d do that for you. _

_Ruby_

_I’m touched but also NO you do NOT need to beat up one of my closest friends for not being in love with me. _

She loved that Emma was that ride or die, but it wasn’t Archie’s fault he saw her as a friend and not romantically. Honestly, she was thankful he thought of her as a friend at all. Really, she was just his regular waitress. They talked occasionally, but he didn’t have to be as warm and friendly as he was. She was a bit surprised, actually, by how attentive he was to her friendship. They’d met ten years ago, she’d just turned 19, hardly out of high school. She’d been so angry, still in her peak rebellion and self-destructive phase. All short shorts and crop tops under her tits and the highest heels she could find (how the hell she wore them for her eight hours shifts she had no idea, now even the thought sent needles of pain through her feet). Arguing with Granny in the middle of the diner, screaming at her sometimes even. Publicly hooking up with anyone with a pulse and just not giving a damn about anything. All that hurt, all her resentment and anger, the rage and the impotence spilling from her and all over everything she touched. He’d looked at all of that _mess _and offered her his friendship. Not even therapy, at least not formally. He never once suggested she come see him professionally. He was just always there with a smile and a terrible pun, a joke and a too generous tip.

_Belle_

_Are you sure he’s not in love with you? Because from wehre I sit every morning it sure looks like he is. x_

_Where*_

_Ruby_

_He can’t be_

_Emma_

_HE IS! He is! he is!_

_Emma _

_You’re being so hesitant about this, normally you’re way more out there for seduction_

_Belle_

_Maybe it’s because she actually has feelings for him too, Emma. x _

They weren’t even here, and they could still read her like a book. Belle hit the nail on the fucking head. She had feelings for the good doctor.

She was in love with him.

It would be so very different if she wasn’t. If she just thought, he was attractive and friendly, and she was trapped in the cabin she would have no problem trying to move their friendship into sharing some benefits. And when the time came that they could go home she wouldn’t mind if the benefits stopped or the friendship strained. Like she might be a little sad to lose the easy comradery and generous tips, but it wouldn’t kill her to start letting Tiana or someone else take over waiting on him at the diner.

A fling was fun, but she wanted forever from Archie Hopper. The last twenty-four hours had demonstrated that to her loud and clear. She wanted long, quiet drives, and stupid stories, and teasing one another about music and TV shows and all the rest. Brunch, and lunch and grocery shopping on the weekends. Cuddles and shitty horror movies. Dancing in the kitchen while making dinner. Kitchens were made for dancing. Homicidal in-laws aside this was the future she wanted.

_Emma_

_Are you in love with Archie Hopper?_

Ruby stared at Emma’s text for a long moment. It was time to admit it to someone other than herself. She took a deep breath and told her friends her last deep secret.

_Yes._


End file.
